


There's Nobody Praying For Me.

by rubyrosettared



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Memory Loss, OC, Recovering!Bucky, hints of PTSD, memory flashes, post winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrosettared/pseuds/rubyrosettared
Summary: Set directly after the events of The Winter Soldier, a confused and injured Bucky Barnes is found in an alleyway. He's trying to piece together why the man on the bridge is so familiar to him in those early days after the heli-carrier crashed into the Potomac. The characters familiar to the MCU belong to the MCU and all connected to it. The OC characters are my own. All errors are my own and unintentional.Inspired by the Seether song of the same name. Propelled on by Linkin Park's 'Figure.09'Italicised sentences are (predominantly) memory flashes.





	1. Chapter 1

_I’m a whisper lost upon wind._

**Chapter One:**

She shoves the door open with one shoulder, hands filled with tightly knotted but notoriously fragile garbage bags that she needs to get rid of before they split and cause their own special kind of carnage. She glances up at the inky grey sky as she emerges on to the alley, grimacing as rain splatters down on her. She wishes that it would stop raining, she hates getting wet. She hauls the garbage bags over to the nearest dumpster, puts one of them down on the ground at her feet and lifts the lid, hauling the other bag into it. The scent of rotting garbage and old beer rises up, making her reel back a little, blinking rapidly as the fetid odour rushes up to greet her like a long lost friend. As she reaches down for the second bag, she catches sight of a pair of legs sticking out of the gap between the dumpster and the one beside it. Black clad, heavy duty boots on the feet. They don’t seem to be moving. She freezes for a moment, her heart beginning to thrum before she gets rid of the second bag and she carefully lowers the lid back down. She takes a slow deep breath. _Please don’t be a dead body, please God don’t be a dead_ _body_ she silently prays as she takes a couple of experimental steps to her right and she quietly gasps when she sees the man leaning against the side of the second dumpster, his eyes shut.

Dark hair vivid against a ghostly pale face that is somewhat bruised and grazed; he's soaked to the skin from the rain pouring down. She waits for her heartbeat to slow down. He doesn’t move, seemingly oblivious to the atrocious weather. She watches him for a moment before she takes an experimental step towards him and as she gets closer she sees the steady rise and fall of his chest. _Not dead_ she realises with relief. She crouches down and reaches out with one hand.

* * *

 

“Hey. Are you okay?”

His eyes pop open when he feels the hand touch his wrist. Panic floods through him at the brief contact.

_Compromised_

_Sanction_

_Extract._

Each thought swallow dives through his mind; fractious, scared, _terrified_. He feels his heart rate pick up. Not good.

_Compromised. Sanction.  Extract._

He pulls his arm sharply away. Winces at the pain that bursts through the limb. Looks into a pair of pure blue eyes. Quickly looks away again.

_‘Bucky Blue eyes. Bucky Blue eyes_.’

_‘Shut up! Don’t call me that. Don’t call me that_!’

_Kids laughing, running away. Still chanting that hated nickname._

“Do you need help?” Blue Eyes’ voice sounds kind. Concerned.

He frowns slightly. Compassion isn’t something he’s familiar with. He looks across into those eyes again. Becomes aware then that it’s raining, that he’s soaking wet. Is that from the rain?

_He remembers water, grabbing his shoulder harness, hauling him out. A river._

_‘You know me’_

_‘No I don’t!’_

“No.” His voice sounds rusty, barely used. Out of practice. Blue Eyes continues to regard him and he sees the frown on her face. Realises Blue Eyes is a dame…a girl…a woman. She’s crouched down in front of him and he realises then that he’s on the ground, resting up against something cold and hard and he hurts. How did that happen? He doesn’t remember going down. Everything hurts; his shoulder, his head, his stomach. His eyes widen very slightly as he tries to take in his surroundings. Doesn’t recognise them.

_Where is he?_

Feels panic inside of him, swelling up, overwhelming. Yes he needs help. He does need help. He looks back at her, taking in her blonde hair and those blue eyes.

“Sure?”

_No._

“Yes.” Watches her slowly straighten until she’s towering over him like a statue.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” she asks instead.

_‘You’ve known me your whole life.’_

He shakes his head, “No.”

“Nobody?”

He shakes his head again, ignores the pain it causes. _Everything hurts_. He watches how she squints at him, like she doesn’t quite believe him and then she looks up at the bruised sky smudged a deeper shades of storm cloud grey here and there. He hears her sigh and then she walks away, her feet crunching on the broken concrete. He sighs and leans his head against the barrier once more. He closes his eyes and again he ignores the pain.

_Compromised. Need to move on. Somewhere safe. Have to hide._

_Soon. Need to rest awhile first._

* * *

 

She’s frowning as she goes back into the building. Sure they get their fair share of drunks and druggies sleeping off benders in the back alley but there’s something about that guy that sticks with her. For one she’s pretty sure he’s neither drunk nor high. She couldn’t smell any alcohol on him. Sure he’d looked more confused than anything else but not in an away-with-the-fairies kinda way. He looked…exhausted. She pauses. She’s in the medium sized kitchen area at the back of the bar where she works and she ignores the staff as they mill around her, preparing snacks and small meals for the customers occupying the bar out front. The weather is keeping most of the clientele away except for a few hardy regulars. She takes a deep breath and begins to head back to the bar. He refused her offer of help. He’ll move on soon enough, he’s not her problem. She flinches when lightning flashes, illuminating the space around her. She looks up as a crack of thunder echoes above her, right above her, shaking the timbers of the building. She turns and looks back at the rear door.

“Damn it,” she mutters and strides back the way she came.

* * *

 

His eyes slowly blink open when he hears a door squeak open somewhere close by followed by rapidly approaching footsteps. Before he can react, something goes over the top of him, sheltering him and he startles. He looks up and sees the underside of an umbrella covering him. He looks at the person holding it over his head.

Blue Eyes is back.

“You can’t stay here,” she tells him, her tone worried and he frowns.

“So I’ll… move,” he tells her, each word an effort. “Leave me…alone.”

“If it wasn’t threatening to flood out here then I would but I can’t in good faith leave you alone out here, not in this weather.” She stares at him, frowning. “If I’m to be honest, you don’t look too good. Come with me, you can dry off. When was the last time you ate? I’ll warm you some soup or something. ”

Ate? He tries to remember but fails. His stomach growls, low and deep.

A while.

He doesn’t answer, just looks up at her. All he can hear is the sound of the rain rattling off the top of the umbrella, hears it hiss against the crumbled concrete surrounding him.

His answer is slow, measured. Careful. “You don’t know me.”

“That’s true, I don’t but I like to think of myself as a decent enough member of the human race and I can see that you obviously need help.”  He hears the restraint in her voice.

She’s met with silence.

 “My name is Alex Wells,” she quietly introduces and she pauses.

He realises that she’s waiting for him to reciprocate.

_‘Bucky?’_

_‘Who the hell is Bucky?’_

_‘Your name …is James… Buchanan Barnes.’_

He licks his lips, feeling the words form in his mouth.

“My name is… Bu…Bucky,” he answers, his voice slow and halting.

The name sounds foreign on his tongue, like it belongs to someone else and that he’s only borrowing it.

_‘Good morning Soldat’_

 Alex tilts her head to one side.

“Good to meet you Bucky. Will you please come inside?” Another flash of lightning brightens up the sky, making them both flinch followed by more thunder rumbling across the heavens. His first instinct is to refuse, to get to his feet and move on. Isn’t that what she really wants him to do? It’s what he has been doing since leaving the river; never staying in one place long enough, never taking the chance he could be recognised and taken away again. He doesn’t want to go back there again. Are there people looking for him?  Have they realised that he’s survived the Heli-Carrier crash yet? A picture flickers into his mind.

_‘The man on the bridge. Who was he?’_

A bridge. The picture comes into sharp focus for a moment. Not on a bridge now but he can see one or he can at least remember one. The man. Blond. Tall. Fighter. _Soldier_. The look on his face. Recognition maybe, disbelief but how? Why?

_‘Bucky?’ Soft voice._

_‘Who the hell is Bucky?’ His voice. Something shifts inside of his head, everything tilts on its axis for a second before rectifying._

He tries to grab tight onto these images but when he does, they’re fleeting, they flicker in his mind, insubstantial, evaporating like mist and he’s left with the static. It fills his head and his ears like it does now. Transitory. Ethereal. Frustrating. _Empty_.

It scares him.

_‘But I knew him.’_

_‘Prep him.’_

_‘But he’s been out of cryo for too long.’_

_‘Then wipe him, start over.’_

_Voices, different voices. So many voices bursting through the static._

_Someone’s screaming._

* * *

 

“Let me help you…” His eyes widen when he sees her approach him, lean down, wrap a hand around his upper right arm. He feels a bolt of pain shoot up from his elbow to his shoulder. He lashes out, his left hand shoving her away as he quickly pushes back, out of reach. Doesn’t realise his own strength as she flies backwards, her eyes wide with shock, landing hard on her ass, the umbrella rolling away. For a moment she stays where she is, staring at him, stunned. He watches as she gets to her feet, wipes her hands over the seat of her jeans and grimaces at the dampness she finds there. She sends him a disgusted look before disappearing from sight.

_Maybe she’ll get the hint and leave him alone._

“I’m… sorry…didn’t mean to…” His apology begins haltingly as she comes back into his line of vision, the umbrella in her hand once more.

She shakes her head as she slowly approaches him again, more cautiously this time.

“No…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that…” she begins and once more she holds the umbrella over him. He just stares at her, flummoxed by her response, feeling the brick wall grind into his spine as he presses into it. Trying not to shake so hard that she’ll notice.

_Scared._

“Please. Will you come inside out of the rain?” she asks, her voice quiet and a little tired sounding.

He looks into her eyes again. She seems sincere even though he’s just knocked her on her ass. He’s cold and he’s soaking wet.

He nods and watches as she takes a step away from him and as he begins to get to his feet she sees his metal left arm, the hand covered by a fingerless black leather glove. Her eyes widen marginally. He glances at it.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises. He hasn’t received any instructions to the contrary. No mission.

_‘You’re my mission!’_

He blinks and sways a little when he hears that voice scream inside of his head. His own voice. Who was his mission? He doesn’t remember, he just knows he won’t hurt the girl. She isn’t his mission. He’s so tired. He wants the quiet, to sleep, he wants to be warm. He wants to not hurt any more. His right arm throbs from shoulder to elbow and he still can’t move it properly. He cradles it close to his body as he straightens up and she catches sight of him doing it and she frowns slightly.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

_‘Drop it!’_

He glances down at it, remembers the pop of bone, the white hot pain that shot up into his shoulder and the numbness that followed. He nods.

“Let’s get you inside, I could probably take a look at it?”

He looks at her but doesn’t answer.

“I can help you, if you’ll let me,” she continues, still watching him.

“You a Doc?”

She slowly shrugs, looking away, her expression changing slightly, becoming a little nostalgic.

“Used to be, once upon a time,” she murmurs and that’s it. Then her gaze refocuses. “Will you let me help you?” she asks him again.

He’s still on the wary side but he nods all the same.

“’kay,” he murmurs and despite the tension, or maybe because of it, she smiles softly.

         

 


	2. Chapter Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex (aka Blue Eyes) continues to try and build a level of trust between Bucky and herself. Again, italicised sentences are predominantly flashbacks. All errors are my own as always and unintentional.

_I’m the ember that’ll burn you down…_

His clothing puzzles her a little. Combat trousers, heavy boots, leather jacket with one sleeve torn out to accommodate the strangest prosthesis she’s ever seen. There’s a harness of some description, made of leather strapped across his back and his chest and a utility belt spans his waist. It’s empty, as is the small holster that’s resting against his right hip. He waits as she opens the door and goes inside. She turns and looks at him, holds the door open for him and indicates with a nod of her head that he should come inside.

He pauses at the entrance, his eyes taking in the interior, squinting against the shadows. He can see people moving around and his heart rate picks up and he glances back at Blue Eyes. He watches as she turns her head and looks into the room for a second before she looks back at him.

“They work here. They’re okay,” she tells him in a low voice. She’s trying to sound reassuring but he’s not convinced. One of them turns his head and regards him and he automatically shrinks back.

_Compromised. Sanction. Extract._

_Leave, leave now._

He feels a frisson of alarm shiver through him.

_Danger. There’s danger here._

“Bucky, they work here. This is a kitchen and directly through there is a bar which is where I work. You can come inside, get dry, get warm and get something to eat. Let me take a look at your arm.”

He slides another cautious look her way and she nods, just the once. He takes a breath and steps inside and pauses just inside the doorway. She folds down the umbrella, leaves it beside the door.

* * *

 

It’s not a huge room, enough space for four or five people. The room is divided into a cooking and prep area and dining area. He carefully watches the people working in the cooking area but apart from that initial look when the girl had opened the door, they pay him no attention. Instead they talk amongst themselves. He can smell food cooking. His stomach growls again and reflexively he presses his left hand against it. It’s been so long since he last had any kind of food to eat.

“You coming?” she asks, keeping her voice low and he flicks a glance her way but he doesn’t move, not immediately. He’s checking out the staff as well as looking for entrances and exits, in case he needs to leave quickly. She’s seen it before.

“Straight ahead of you is the bar and it will take you out onto the street. There’s the door you just came through and there’s an exit in the dining area which is to your left. You can be out of here in under a minute if you need to leave quickly.” She watches as he just looks at her. “You know, just in case. You wouldn’t be the first to want to know how to leave in a hurry.”

Not the first, not by a long, long chalk.

* * *

 

He’s military she surmises, or maybe at least ex-military. Would explain the combats, the leather jacket, the prosthesis and the squirrelly personality. She’s seen many prosthetics, many different variations created from many different materials but never one as striking as his. His is made completely of metal with grooved plates that allows it to move with a grace and ease that suggests some kind of sophisticated cybernetics is involved. She stares at the red star on the shoulder and she wonders who he is.

“This way,” she murmurs to him and heads towards the dining area.

He follows, sticking close to her, his eyes still scoping out his surroundings. His gaze then slides over her.

Blonde hair. Long. Tied back.

What did she say her name was again?  He can’t remember. Information slides through his brain like melting ice.

He doesn’t want to go back, He doesn’t like it there; there is cold, filled with pain. Fear.

“Bucky?”

Her voice is soft but his head snaps in her direction with a speed that suggests otherwise.

They’re in the dining area, the space dominated by a large wooden table, a variety of mismatched chairs huddled around its edges. Around the edges of the room are a variety of cupboards, a long bench, a sink and drainer, a refrigerator.

“Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll heat something up for you. Will soup be okay?” she asks him, indicating the table with one hand.

“Sure…” he murmurs, walking slowly to the table. He eyes the empty chairs and lifts his gaze to the girl. She’s opening the door to the refrigerator and taking something out, a plastic bowl which she carries to the bench.

“Chicken okay?” she asks without even turning around.

“Yeah,” he replies and clears his throat quietly, “thank you.”

This time she does look at him, over one shoulder and the smile she gifts him warms her eyes.

“You’re welcome. Sit.”

He slowly lowers himself down onto one of the chairs, sitting at an angle so he can see both her and anyone else entering the room.

* * *

 

He startles when he hears something bleep and his head turns towards the source of the shrill noise and sees the girl pressing buttons on a metal oblong box. It looks like an oven of some description. Inside is the bowl which slowly rotates as the machine hums. In the mean time she’s taken some bread out of a box and is slicing it with a long bladed knife. He watches her for a moment, noticing how neat and economical her movements are. The machine then bleeps again and she takes the bowl out. The contents are steaming so his guess that it’s an oven of some kind is obviously correct.

Presently she carries a smaller bowl over to him and places it in front of him. He looks down at it and his stomach gives another growl. He feels his cheeks warm with an uncharacteristic blush as one more he pushes his left hand into it to make it stop. He lifts her head as she takes a dishtowel from over her shoulder and lifts the bowl, placing it beneath. She heads back to the bench and returns with the sliced bread on a smaller plate and a spoon. She places them beside the bowl.

“There’s plenty if you want more. Don’t be shy,” she tells him, offering him her smile again. He glances down at the bowl once more, he can smell the scent of the chicken, see noodles and vegetables, smell spices, herbs. He looks back at her.

“Thank you. You’re very…kind.”

It’s fine. Afterwards…will you let me take a look at your arm?” She keeps her voice gentle as she lowers herself down onto a chair near to him, giving him a little space. She doesn’t want to leave him by himself and he seems to be as comfortable with her presence as anyone’s.  Once more his eyes scan his surroundings, narrowing slightly as he takes in the lengthening shadows of a storm darkened afternoon, hears the rain rattling off the high up window panes in short staccato bursts accompanied by another rumble of thunder. “There’s no one else here, it’s just you and me. The guys in the main kitchen area won’t bother us.”

She thinks that his shoulder is dislocated and if it is, he’ll need prompt medical treatment and she doesn’t think he’ll go to a hospital. She sits back in her seat.

“Eat your soup. You’ll feel better,” she tells him.

He doubts it but he picks up the spoon with his left hand anyway.

* * *

 

She watches him for a moment as he carefully dips the spoon into the soup and then slowly and carefully lifts it to his lips and tastes it. It’s almost delicate and she watches the range of emotions that slide across his face. It varies from caution to curiosity to almost bliss. Her gaze drops to the metal hand, at how dextrously the limb moves, how the fingers flex and manipulate the spoon almost as well as a flesh and blood hand. There’s some serious technology at play there. She gets to her feet and gets him a glass of water. His eyes flick up to her face again as she places it beside his bowl and then sits down again. A few moments of silence pass.

“Hey…Doc…”

The interruption makes Bucky flinch, dropping his spoon with a clatter and he turns in his seat, already half out of it by the time she moves in front of him. She places a hand on his shoulder and there’s no weight to it but he stills and sits back down as she turns to look at their visitor.

A tall, skinny guy in drainpipe jeans, black rimmed spectacles and band t-shirt. He freezes the moment he sees their visitor.

Alex gives a sigh. “Damn it Connor, don’t sneak up on a gal like that,” she scolds.

The man’s eyes widen apologetically. “Sorry. Just came to tell you that your brother’s here. Who’s this?” His gaze drops on Bucky. She turns her head and looks at him for a moment before returning her attention to Connor.

“Someone I’m helping. Could you send Gabe back here please? And let Callum know I’m gonna be busy for a little while?”

Connor’s gaze snaps up from Bucky’s face to hers. “Sure thing,” he replies and he’s gone. She sighs and slowly turns to look at Bucky again. His eyes are slightly wide. She lifts her hand from his shoulder.

“That’s Connor, he works here too. You’re in luck, my brother’s here, he’s a doctor and he can take a look at your shoulder if you’re still willing?”

Bucky stares at her for a moment, eyes barely blinking.

“I thought you were gonna look at my arm?”

“And I will, I’ll be here too, Gabe is better, more qualified than me.” She picks up the discarded spoon and holds it out to him.  “Finish your soup before it gets cold,” she tells him and watches as he does so.

* * *

 

A couple of moments later they hear a careful knocking sound.

“Hey sis, okay for me to come in?”

Bucky replaces the spoon in the bowl and pushes it away. He keeps his head down but every sense is on alert.

_Compromise. Sanction.  Extract._

_Danger. There’s danger here._

He lifts his eyes and sees Blue Eyes smile at the visitor.

“Yeah, come on in,” she tells him.

“Connor said you have someone you want me to see?”

“Yeah. This is Bucky.”

He tenses when he feels her hand rest on his shoulder again. Just as quickly she lets go. Bucky lifts his head when he sees the other guy come closer. Taller. Blonde hair like Blue Eyes but not so bright, the same colour eyes.

Didn’t someone say her brother was here? Is this him?

He watches as he slowly lowers himself in the seat she had earlier occupied. Is he really who he says he is? Maybe he’s here to take him back to them. Maybe he works for HYDRA. Maybe he’s lying, maybe they’re all lying to him. Maybe they’re making sure he sticks around long enough so they can let them know and they’ll be here soon to return him.

_Compromise. Sanction. Extract._

_Danger._

“Gabe. You need to be careful.”

Bucky’s eyes flick to Blue Eyes’ face when he hears her voice, the change in tone, and recognises the caution. It’s then that he becomes aware of a quiet but high pitched revving sound and he looks down and sees his gloved left hand clenched into a tight fist. Out of the corner of his eye he sees movement and he quickly pushes back in his seat, raising the arm, fist poised, ready to strike.

“Woah…hey…I’m not gonna hurt you!” the guy retorts, holding up both hands, palms out. His eyes are wide with apprehension. A tense moment ticks by where Bucky doesn’t lower his arm, his eyes are wide, darting around his surroundings.

 _Need to leave. Compromised. Sanction. Extract._ It dances through his head like an out of control jitterbug.

_‘Hey Bucky, are we goin’ dancin’?’_

_‘Yes we are!’ Confident. He likes to dance. Good at it._

_Arms link his. They’re leaving. Where are they going?_

“This is my brother Gabe. He’s the doctor I mentioned and he can help you. I promise you that he won’t hurt you. Will you let him take a look at your arm?”

Blue Eyes’ voice is low, calm and he stares at her. He can feel his lungs heaving, as if he can’t drag enough air into them. His vision is going dark around the edges or is it getting darker outside? He can’t tell anymore.

He doesn’t know what’s going on. Things are moving too fast for him to comprehend, to accept.

“Bucky?” she repeats and slowly moves a little bit closer to him. Carefully she crouches down and gently places her hand on his knee. He’s tense; every fibre, every nerve, every muscle on alert. His eyes are saucer wide, skittering over each face, every surface. Close to full blown panic.

“Gabe can help you. You can trust him,” she tells him and she waits. A moment passes and she watches as he cautiously he lowers the arm and slowly unclenches his metal fist. She sighs quietly in relief and takes her hand off his knee. She glances at her brother as she gets to her feet. Bucky then looks at him and he nods his permission. Gabe slowly lowers his hands.

“For me to take a look at your arm, you need to get out of that jacket. Do you think you can or do you need me to help you?” he asks, keeping his tone low.

“I can do it,” he replies quietly and they both watch as with his left hand he first of all unfastens the utility belt around his waist and then he unbuckles the harness that’s strapped over his shoulders. He pops open the buttons that hold the thick leather jacket firmly across his chest. As it gapes open, Alex sees a zipper and he slowly pulls it down. He then pulls his metal arm free of the hole that is the left sleeve and he looks up at her as she slowly approaches him. She looks into vivid blue-grey eyes. Rainwater still dribbles from the ends of his overlong dark hair that’s plastered to his skull, dripping onto his shoulders, in his face. She takes notice of the bruises that mark his face, the healing graze on his left cheekbone, on his chin beside the corner of his mouth. He looks like he’s been in a fight.

 “May I?” she asks, indicating the right sleeve and he slowly nods. She reaches forward and gently grasps back of the jacket and carefully she manoeuvres it across his shoulder and then down over his right arm, moving with care to remove the jacket completely from his upper body, wincing slightly at his hiss of pain. It’s soaked through and weighs a ton. He watches as she places it on the table in front of him. Beneath the jacket is an undershirt of some description, black in colour with a high neck and a long right sleeve.

“Again, I need to remove this so Gabe can check the shoulder, is that okay?” she repeats.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. She glances at him, watching as he tenses, biting his bottom lip against the pain. She looks at his left hand and sees that he’s clenching it into a tight fist again but this time it doesn’t look like he’s threatening to swing it.

“Sorry,” she apologises, “I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters back but his eyes are dark with pain.

* * *

 

Alex watches as he pulls his left arm through the hole then pull it over his head. She in turn peels the sleeve from the injured arm and places it on top of the jacket. She returns her attention to him and she sees that the prosthesis goes right up into his shoulder, replacing the entire socket. Her eyes take in the extensive scarring of the skin, puckered where flesh and metal join. She hears the soft whirr of the cybernetics as it moves, notices how the plates in the arm shift and then settle. She then blinks and returns her attention to his flesh and blood arm. It’s thickly muscled, the bicep bulging even while relaxed, the skin smooth and pale. Her eyes take in the sloping of the right shoulder and the bruising that marks the skin. Similar bruises smear the skin across his chest and abdomen. He’s definitely been in a fight of some description.

Gabe leans forward and waits until Bucky makes eye contact again.

“I need to touch the arm and it will probably hurt, okay?” he tells him and a solitary nod is his reply and he gently places his hands on the arm.

“When did this happen?” he asks as he carefully manipulates the limb, hearing his sharp intake of breath, quickly swallowed down.

“I don’t know. Yesterday I think. I don’t remember,” he answers haltingly and he glances at him.

“You don’t remember? How is that possible? This will be hurting like hell, you wouldn’t forget an injury like this one.”

The look Bucky sends him is defiant.

“I don’t remember,” he deliberately repeats.

Gabe sighs and carefully let’s go of his arm.

“It’s dislocated and the shoulder joint needs to be put back in its socket and put in a sling for a few days.”

“So do it.”       

Gabe’s eyes widen.  “It’s not that easy. Ideally you’d need x rays so I could see what kind of dislocation it is and also to make sure it’s back in its socket but somehow I don’t think you’re amenable to that idea.”

Bucky begins to shake his head. “No hospitals.”

Gabe looks up at his sister and quietly sighs.

“Then we do it here and be warned, it’s gonna hurt.”

 

 


	3. Chapter Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex continues to attempt to build a level of trust with Bucky by offering him a place of safety. All errors are my own and unintentional. Memory flashes are (mostly) in italics.

 

**Chapter Three:**

_‘I’m the water that’ll drown you’_

_“It’s gonna hurt…”_

Bucky looks up at the doctor.

“Just do it,” he instructs him. Sees how he looks at Blue Eyes who stands by his side.

_Why can’t he remember her name?_

“Don’t you want a painkiller first?” she asks him.

He just shakes his head. They don’t work on him. His enhanced metabolism renders them useless.

_Still remembers the grind of bone against bone even after they attempted to give him something to combat the pain the first time he broke a limb. It took them a little while to realise that they didn’t work on him._

_He crushed the throat of the first doctor. He was dead before he hit the floor._

_The second one he threw across the room. Smashed his skull against the wall._

_The third survived. Only because a rifle barrel was aimed at the centre of his forehead and the doctor figured out which med would make him as docile as lamb. Docile didn’t mean immune but they made sure to stick it into a vein in the back of his hand each time._

_After that he didn’t react, not outwardly anyway. The meds and the soldiers with their rifles aimed at his head made sure of that but he learned to bite down on his lip anyway, bite down so hard that it would bleed. He wouldn’t make a sound. Wouldn’t scream though deep down he wanted to._

_The machine made him scream. That pain he couldn’t hide from, couldn’t push down. Not with all of that voltage pouring through his brain._

* * *

 

He’s got that far away look in his eyes. The moment he told Gabe to do it Alex saw him retreat, fade away into what memories she doesn’t know but they’re not good ones. She looks at Gabe.

“Do you think you can do it?” she asks him and he rolls his eyes at her as if to ask her _what kind of question is that?_

“Just watch that left arm of his for me. Once the joint is back in, get some ice. If he won’t have painkillers, the ice will help to ease any fresh swelling,” he instructs. Alex just nods. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to actually stop him if he does decide to swing. He has broad shoulders, even the metal one, the flesh and blood arm is heavily muscled. Her ass still feels a little bruised from their earlier encounter in alley.

“You ready Bucky?” Gabe asks. Bucky turns his head slightly and looks up at him. He sees Blue Eyes moving and watches as she goes to his left side. Understands that it’s a preventative measure. He glances back at the Doc and his nod is slight.

* * *

 

Alex is tense but her brother is good at what he does and he quickly pops the joint back into its socket with a clunk. She hears the revving of Bucky’s cybernetic hand and sees it clenched into a tight fist once more but he doesn’t raise it or swing it. She looks at her brother as he feels around the newly relocated joint. He gets Bucky to perform a few simple exercises that involve raising the limb, touching his opposite shoulder and after another quick examination he nods in satisfaction.

“All done. The joint is back in place.” He looks at Bucky and offers a quick smile but as expected, he doesn’t smile back but he turns his head when he hears Alex walk away.

Gabe sits back down opposite him and waits until Bucky makes eye contact with him once more.

“Will you let me check you over?” he asks in a soft voice and sees the frown of puzzlement that comes and goes.

“I’m fine,” he tells him.

“Perhaps you are but I wouldn’t be a good doctor if I didn’t at least check your vitals, listen to your heart, your lungs. Won’t take long, couple of minutes, tops.” He looks off to the side and Bucky can hear footsteps again. Blue Eyes returns to his line of vision. She’s holding something, wrapped in a dishtowel. Gabe stands up and moves away and she takes his place on the chair. She lifts the wrapped up dishtowel slightly.

“Ice pack for your shoulder. It’ll help,” she tells him and before he can refuse it, she leans in closer and gently presses it against the shoulder joint, ignoring the quiet grunt of discomfort, how his body tenses at her touch. Instead she smiles at him.

“Ice and heat are good for muscle pain and you’ll be in pain for a few more days. I’m going to put that arm in a sling just to keep it stable and you’ll need to wear it for a few days too.”

Gabe comes back to the table and he’s carrying a hold all of some description and Bucky watches him take out a stethoscope.

He submits to basic checks all the while aware of Blue Eyes holding the ice pack to his shoulder. He wants to tell her that he can do it himself.

 _He needs to get out of here. It’s not safe. They’ll find him. Drag him back_.

_He needs to get somewhere safe and hide._

* * *

 

Bucky watches as she takes the sling from the doctor with a smile.

“I don’t need that. I’ll be fine. This is enough” he tells her, holding onto the ice pack he still has pressed against his injured shoulder, watching her approach with it in her hand.

“If you won’t accept painkillers then you have to accept this. It will help in the healing process.” She takes a step closer to him, close enough that she brushes against him and he automatically flinches back. His skin tingles from the contact and he glares up at her.

“I heal quick,” he growls at her. She briefly falters before she carefully removes the ice pack from his shoulder, watching as his left arm drops by his side.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” she gently chastises him.

“It’s not needed. I heal quick. Don’t…don’t _touch_!” he hisses and goes to push her away but feels a hand clamp around the wrist of his left hand. Hears the cybernetics whirr in protest. He looks up at Gabe who is regarding him with benign blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Gabe warns him in a quiet voice.

Bucky wants to tell him that he couldn’t stop him, none of them could but doesn’t. He looks away, biting his lip.

“I don’t like being touched…too much,” he mutters instead.

“You don’t like being told no. You’re thinking of leaving and a sling would be impractical,” Gabe interprets and Bucky looks up at him again. Carefully and deliberately he releases his grip on Bucky’s wrist.

“Do you think I don’t know who and what you are?” he continues. Bucky goes absolutely still, feels his heartbeat pick up, his breathing change.

_He’s right. He’s here for him. Is he HYDRA? SHIELD? Someone else?_

_Compromised. Sanction. Extract_.

_Where did Blue Eyes say the exits were?_

His eyes dart around the room.

“You’re military, or you were once upon a time. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re suffering from PTSD or something similar.” Gabe sees how he frowns at that. “Used to be called shell shock during the First World War. You’re tense, squirrelly almost and you fade in and out mentally. You barely flinched when I put your shoulder back in its socket. You’re used to pain and you shouldn’t be. The sling will help. Let my sister put it on you just for a little while.” He keeps his voice low, almost conversational but Bucky hears the steel beneath it. He doesn’t say a word in response. Shell shock. He remembers something about that, reading about it somewhere a long time ago. Can’t remember where but it sounds familiar. He staggers to his feet, the chair he’s been occupying skittering back an inch or two and he quickly turns so that he can see both the Doc and Blue Eyes.

“I don’t need your help. I don’t,” he tells them. He reaches for his shirt and hisses at the pull of pain in his shoulder, grabs at it with his other arm.

Alex looks at her brother and subtly nods. Gabe takes a couple of slow steps back but Bucky keeps him under observation, the shirt in one hand. He flinches and takes another step back as Alex takes a step closer to him.

“Of course you’re free to leave if you want to Bucky but you need to rest. You’re exhausted, you were trying to sleep in the pouring rain for God’s sake.” He watches as she slowly lifts both hands, palms turned outwards.

“You’re welcome to stay here for a day or two and recuperate. I live on the top floor of the bar and there’s a room set aside. You can rest, sleep and recuperate and you’ll be safe. I’ve helped people like you before.”

Bucky sincerely doubts that she’s even seen anyone like him before.

“Your shoulder needs support Bucky, even for a little while. Let me help you with that,” she urges softly. “It’ll help you heal quicker if you comply.”

_Comply. Ready to comply. Sanction. Extract…_

He gives his head a little shake.

“Thought you said you were a doctor?” he answers with a frown, remembering her telling him this fact outside in the rain. He slowly sits back down on the chair.

“I used to be. Gabe is the Doc here,” she answers, moving to Gabe’s bag and she looks inside.

“The kid called you Doc.”

Alex thinks thirty year old Connor would be tickled to be called a kid by someone she guesses is roughly the same age as him. She bites back a smile as she extracts a wide square of unbleached cotton and places it on the table.

“I don’t practice medicine anymore.”

“Why?”

She exhales slowly and gives a little shake of her head. “It’s a long story,” she replies. She then takes a deep breath and she straightens her spine and she looks at him once more. She picks up the cotton square and sees how he looks at her.

“Please,” she murmurs and eventually he nods his consent.

* * *

 

It takes a moment or two to fashion the sling and fasten it over his shoulder, making sure the injured one is adequately supported. She sees how he looks down at it, a frown on his face. She takes a step back and he looks back at her.

“Why don’t I show you the room upstairs? Then you can decide for yourself whether it’s for you or not. If it isn’t then you’re free to walk out of here unchallenged with no more questions asked.”

She sees how he looks from her to her brother. He trembles very slightly and she can see the exhaustion on his face, the dark shadows bruised beneath blue eyes, how dull those eyes are right now. She wonders when it was he last smiled.

* * *

 

His head is aching. He wants to be warm, to be able to sleep. He can’t remember the last time he was able to just close his eyes and drift off.

_‘You need to sleep Buck, tomorrow’s a new day’_

_‘Nah, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’_

That voice again. He keeps hearing that damned voice. Why can’t he remember who it belongs to? His head is filled with static again.

“One look,” he tells her before he changes his mind. Feels his heart jump in his chest all the same.

Blue Eyes gives him a soft smile and a nod. “One look,” she agrees quietly.

He gets to his feet again and watches as she reaches for his jacket, picks it up and loops it over one arm.

“This way,” she tells him and he watches her walk on ahead. Turns his head when he hears the Doc scoop something up. He sees him loop his utility belt over his shoulder and collect his bag.

Out in the kitchen area, he sends a wary look across at the workers who are still there, preparing food. Sees how they stare back at him. He looks away and then remembers he’s not wearing a shirt and then there’s his left arm. That’ll attract attention all by itself.

They reach a flight of stairs that lead straight upwards. Ahead of him is a wide open space, he can see tables, chairs, hear music, conversation. Blue Eyes pauses and looks at him.

“Wait here okay?” she requests in a soft voice and it’s then Bucky realises that the doctor is behind him.

_Making sure he doesn’t make a run for it?_

* * *

 

Callum Green turns his head and watches Alex come into the bar. She has a look in her eye that he’s come to recognise. _Purpose_. She sends him a distracted smile as she moves along the bar, eyes searching below it until she pauses, ducks down. Callum slowly approaches her, watching her as she sorts through the pile of t-shirts they keep down there to sell as merchandise. Finally she selects one, checks the size, looping it over one shoulder.

“You got another one?” he asks, keeping his voice low. She looks at him as she straightens up.

“You know I do, Connor will have told you. He’s with Gabe, I’m gonna show him the spare room, see if he’ll stay for a little bit.”

“Con said he was squirrelly.” She hears the unspoken question, _are you sure that’s the right thing to do?_

“They always are at first. He’s calmed down, let Gabe check him over.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Beside the dumpster in the alley,” Alex answers and sees how Callum’s brown eyes widen for a moment, turning his head to the front window and the rain still rattling down.

“That’s why I decided to help him. He’s gonna need my help for a little while, can you cover for me?” she asks, watching as he sighs, rolls his eyes a bit before nodding.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he agrees and she smiles her thanks.

* * *

 

A short while later and she’s back and she hands the t-shirt to Bucky, taking his original undershirt from him in exchange.

“You might feel a little more comfortable wearing this,” she tells him. She unfolds it for him and carefully helps him to slip it on. The shirt feels soft against his skin. He looks down at it, it’s plain apart from a name above his heart. _CeeGee’s._

The name of the bar he guesses.

“This way,” she continues and begins to climb the staircase.

At the top of the staircase is a narrow corridor with several doorways, all closed.

“Callum lives on this floor,” she tells him. He frowns slightly, wondering who Callum is. She glances at him over her shoulder. “He runs the bar, he’s a nice guy,” she supplies.

_He’ll have to take her word for that._

They walk along to a second flight of stairs. As he follows, his eyes take in his surroundings, taking note of the position of the windows, of the doors, where he could head to in an emergency. He feels his heart begin its newly familiar pulsing in his chest.

_Sanction. Compromised. Extract._

_Be aware. Always be prepared. Always be ready._

“Nearly there,” Blue Eyes tells him as they reach the second staircase.

Bucky looks up as they reach the top of the staircase. There’s more space here. Like she said, right at the top of the building. He takes a slow deep breath, feeling his lungs expand. He watches her approach a plain white painted door and take something out of the back pocket of the jeans that she’s wearing and she extracts a key. She glances at him over her shoulder as she unlocks the door and pushes it open.

“Follow me,” she invites and goes inside.

Once more Bucky looks up as he enters her apartment. He notices the high ceiling and the sky light cut into it, the glass smeary with rain. The room is large, plain white walls, polished wooden floors. A queen sized bed is pushed up against the wall to his left and a short distance opposite is a long sofa, an armchair bracketing an empty fireplace. Directly ahead of him is a large window and he resists the urge to go to it and check how far the drop is to the ground.

“This way,” Blue Eyes tells him and he looks at her.

_He wishes he could remember her name._

Looks back at the Doc who is still behind him, watching him.

_Gabe. His name is Gabe._

They bypass a small kitchen area, all exposed brickwork and white tiles. She pauses by another white painted door and she opens it, goes inside. He pauses for a brief second on the threshold before following her again.

A smaller room with another queen sized bed pushed beneath a window. The room is sparsely furnished, a bedside table which holds a single lamp, a wardrobe and that’s pretty much it. The floor is polished wood, a plain blue rug the only adornment. He sees towels folded on the bottom of the bed, what looks like a small wash bag on top of it. The bed is neatly made, ready for its occupant. Bucky moves around in a small circle as he takes it all in, going to the window and looking out and down. It’s a long way down, he moves closer to the glass and sees the dumpsters below him. He lifts his head and looks over neighbouring rain soaked roof tops. It’s still raining and he realises as he listens, that the thunder seems to have stopped for now. He then turns around and looks at the pair of them, who stand still watching him.

“You said you help people. People like me?” he asks. Sees how they exchange a look.

“For the most part. People who need help anyway,” Blue Eyes answers with a shrug. He looks back over his shoulder out of the window, at the drop below. He could make it if he had to, has probably dropped further.

“What kind of people?” he asks and then looks back at them.

“Just people who need help. PTSD sufferers, people who need a roof over their head for a little while, a place of safety for people down on their luck; ex-soldiers, victims of domestic abuse. All kinds.” She sees how his eyes narrow, his gaze sharpens at this piece of information.

“You’ll be safe for however long you feel you need to be here. It’s a word of mouth kind of place, not on any agency’s radar that we’re aware of.”

He watches as she goes to the wardrobe and opens it. He sees clothes hung up, shirts, sweaters, t-shirts and other items of clothing folded beside it.

“I’m sure there’ll be something suitable in here that’ll fit you. The bathroom is right next door if you want to take a shower or have a bath or just freshen up. Look around, see if it’s somewhere you could be comfortable with for a day or two,” she tells him, moving to stand beside the Doc. She looks at him and it’s like an unspoken message is passed between them and they both move towards the door.

“We’ll leave you alone for a while,” she tells him and they exit.

* * *

 

Bucky stays beside the window and watches them leave, carefully closing the door behind them. He then turns his head back to the view outside and watches raindrops slide down the windowpane. The sky is still a heavy iron grey colour, the rain doesn’t look like it’s gonna stop any time soon. His pants cling uncomfortably to his thighs and he’s still cold. He lifts his hand to his hair, running fingers through it, it feels heavy with moisture though it seems to have stopped dripping. He slowly approaches the bed, his eyes scanning the space. What’s he looking for? Hidden cameras? Listening devices? He can’t see either but it doesn’t mean that there aren’t any. He picks up one of the towels, swipes it over his hair a couple of times and then pulls his fingers through it to straighten it out and drops the towel back on the mattress.

Blue Eyes said that he could leave at any time. Hell, he could leave right now. He’s tempted to. He should.

_And go where?_

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe has questions. Alex begins to have some of her own. Errors are my own and unintentional.

**Chapter Four:**

_I'm just a star that's a black hole now..._

 

“You and I need to talk,” Gabe tells her as they leave the room.

“About what?” Alex enquires as they head to the kitchen though she has a very good idea of what he wants to talk to her about.

“Your latest project,” her brother snips back when they finally go inside.

“Excuse me, my what?”

Gabe dumps the bag and the belt on the kitchen island in the centre of the room and turns to look at her.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hisses and her eyes widen in shock. “You’re seriously offering him a place to stay?”

“He needs help Gabe,” she whispers back, eyes darting to the doorway as if fully expecting Bucky to appear at any moment and who knows, perhaps he will.

“I agree but not the kind you can give him!”

“Meaning?”

“You saw him downstairs, how squirrelly he is. Look at the size of him, look at his clothing and tell me that’s not the kind of clothing a normal member of the public wears. I will bet my last dollar that this belt holds ammunition of some kind. I recognised a knife holster and a gun holster strapped around his waist and hello, knee pads and those boots?”

“You think he’s on the run, hiding from someone?”

“The police perhaps?” Gabe suggests, his voice beginning to rise. Alex regards him and she takes a slow deep breath as she considers the possibility. She’d noticed the empty knife holster but not the gun holster and she ignores the chill that forms in the pit of her stomach at that.

“If that’s the case then where are his weapons? What do you suggest I do? Call the cops? Your friend from the VA, Sam? You know that’s not what I do here unless under exceptional circumstances or if he asks for help himself. I promised him safety and that’s what he’ll have if he decides to stay. You’re more than welcome to stick around if you’re worried he’ll try to slaughter me in my sleep!” she retorts when he rolls his eyes.

“Maybe I will!” he mutters back.

“Earlier in the alley he said he wouldn’t hurt me. He saw me looking at his arm, the metal one, and he said he wouldn’t hurt me and I believe him.”

“Oh and he didn’t try in the kitchen downstairs, or was that was just a figment of my imagination?” Gabe’s eyes are wide, indignant.

“Because he was in pain, scared. He could have but more importantly he didn’t. I’m sure you or I would’ve reacted in the same way,” she replies calmly and hears his loud sigh.

“You’ve made up your mind haven’t you?”

Alex shrugs. “He needs a place of safety, just for now. He could be gone by tomorrow. I have a feeling about him Gabe, just a feeling.”

“Yeah, you and your feelings,” her elder brother mutters darkly.

“And they’ve stood me in good stead in the past. My mind’s made up and you know you can’t talk me out of something when that happens,” she reminds him and receives a roll of the eyes for her pains.

“Oh yeah, I do know and for the record, your feelings haven’t always stood you in good stead. I haven’t forgotten the last time.”

Alex goes still.

“That was…”

They both turn, conversation halting, when they hear a heavy tread on the floorboards and see Bucky slowly come into view and Alex immediately wonders how much of their conversation he’s overheard.

He stands in the doorway, still in the bar t-shirt and combat pants. He looks as though he’s made an attempt to dry his hair and then tidy it up a little.

“I can leave at any time?” His voice is low, hesitant and Alex just nods. He then looks at Gabe.

“I won’t hurt anyone and I’m not armed. If it’ll make you feel better, you can pat me down, I won’t object.”

Gabe looks at Alex before he slowly approaches him. Bucky stands still and raises both arms slightly and Alex can’t help but wince at the strain the movement must be putting on his injured shoulder, sling and all but he doesn’t give any outward sign that he’s uncomfortable. His expression is impassive as Gabe pats him down from his shoulders to his ankles, even checks around the waistband of his combat pants. Finally he straightens up and looks at her.

“He’s clean,” he tells her and Alex allows herself a tiny sigh of relief. Slowly, carefully Bucky lowers his arm. He looks at her and watches as she walks towards him.

“Let’s get you a change of dry clothes,” she suggests and she moves past him and heads back to his room.

* * *

 

He watches her as she flips through the clothes on the rail, pulling out t-shirts, checking their sizes, glancing at him, assessing him before either replacing them or pulling them off their hangers and looping them over her shoulder. She extracts two or three t-shirts and a couple of pairs of blue jeans. Presently underwear and socks join the growing pile which she places on the bed.

“If my staying here is gonna cause a problem, I can leave.” Bucky’s voice is low. Alex sighs, placing her hands on her hips.

“You heard my brother then. What can I say except that he’s over protective.”

“Because he’s your brother. Look, you’ve both been really…kind to me, more than I deserve so I can go. It’s okay.” He begins to turn and freezes when she puts a hand on his chest. He looks down at it and then at her.

“Stay. You need to rest that shoulder and that’s not going to happen back out on the streets. I wouldn’t have offered you this room if I thought you were going to cause a problem.”

He continues to look at her.

“Gabe worries, it’s what he does,” she tells him and hears him quietly sigh. “Stay,” she urges and eventually he nods and she lowers her hand, taking a deliberate step back.

“Do you need help with anything?”

He gives a quick shake of his head and she gives him a fleeting smile. “Then I’ll leave you to get changed.”

He watches her leave and he’s left with silence again.

He inhales slowly, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. He can’t help but feel that he’s making a big mistake agreeing to stay here even for a short while. He needs to get out of the city, as far away from all of this as possible. He hasn’t thought about where he’s going to go just yet but New York feels important. He needs to go there, why he can’t remember right now but it itches at the back of his mind.

* * *

 

He sits on the side of the bed and unfastens the knee pads that he wears, leaving them on the floor beside his boots. He then strips off the combats and the t-shirt, his movements slow and awkward and time consuming one handed. He manages to open the package that contains underwear and extracts a couple of pairs of what look like really small  dark coloured shorts and he eyes them dubiously for a second or two before he sighs and clumsily pulls them on. He raises an eyebrow when he realises that while yes they are a little…revealing, they are also surprisingly comfortable. He forfeits the socks and pulls on the jeans and one of the t-shirts Blue Eyes selected for him. They all fit though the jeans rest a little loosely on his hips but he doesn’t mind. It feels nice to be wearing dry clothing of any description. He looks down at his right arm, still in its sling and glares at it for a moment. It’s a damned nuisance but he promised her he’d wear it for a little while. Now he’s tired, worn out from trying to dress himself with one hand and the day in general.

He slowly gets to his feet and returns to the window. It’s beginning to get dark out there, already he can see the orange glow of streetlights, reflecting against rain soaked tarmac and concrete. His right shoulder is aching and he slowly massages the muscle with his left hand and continues to stare blank eyed out of the window. There’s a gentle tap on the bedroom door but it still startles him and he spins and sees Blue Eyes standing on the threshold. She takes in his attire and smiles gently.

“You look a lot better,” she tells him and he looks down at the jeans, the t-shirt he’s wearing and lowers his left hand, free of the glove that he’s dropped on the bedside cabinet. He’s not cold anymore he realises. He looks back at her but doesn’t reply.

“I was wondering whether you’d like something else to eat or maybe a cup of coffee?” she asks. He regards her for a long moment and then slowly he shakes his head.

“I think I’ll…hit the sack…if that’s okay?” he answers slowly, indicating the wide bed with one hand and her eyes widen slightly

“Oh, it’s fine. This is your space so if you want to sleep then go ahead. I won’t disturb you.” She offers him another smile and then ducks out, pulling the door shut behind her.

Bucky looks at the bed and then at the floor. He can’t remember the last time he slept in an actual bed.  

_‘What I wouldn’t give for a genuine four poster bed, with a big fat mattress and goose feather pillows. A night in one of those fancy London hotels would be just swell dontcha think Steve?’_

_‘Yeah maybe after the war’s done and you’ve married yourself an English Princess or that Veronica Lake gal.’ Laughter. It makes him grin in response. Looks down at his army green uniform._

_‘Y’think an English princess would go for a Brooklyn boy like me?”_

_‘You can charm the birds from the trees Buck, what do you think?’_

_More quiet laughter follows._

Bucky blinks. Steve. The man on the bridge, on the Heli-Carrier. The face was hazy but he’s sure it’s the same guy. But how?

_‘I’m not gonna fight you. You’re my friend.’_

He inhales sharply. It sounds like the same voice, or maybe that’s because he wants it to be but he’s learned two new things; someone called Steve was important to him and he’s from Brooklyn.

He goes back to the bed, sits heavily down on the side of the mattress and for a moment rests his head in his hand. He turns his head slightly and rubs his forehead slowly, contemplatively. Exhaustion begins to creep in more forcefully, he can feel it threatening to weigh him down and overwhelm him. He swivels his legs around and he lies flat so that he’s stretched out on the mattress, on top of the blankets. For a moment he stares up at the shadows stretching their way across the ceiling.

He wonders again whether Steve is the man on the bridge.

As he closes his eyes, he remembers Blue Eyes’ name.

“Alex,” he whispers to himself.

* * *

 

“I’m gonna stay just for tonight,” Gabe tells her as she dumps a sheet, pillow and blankets for him on her sofa.

“Just in case he tries to murder me in my sleep you mean. Callum is downstairs y’know, within yelling distance,” she retorts with an eye roll.

“I’ll be closer. I just wanna be certain. You said you had a feeling about him well so do I.”

“Fine, I’m not going to argue with you, I’m too damned tired. You can make up your own bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

It’s dark outside now and finally the rain seems to have finally stopped. She peeked in on Bucky an hour ago to find him stretched out on top of his bed, fast asleep.

“He’s not the first guy I’ve helped,” Alex reminds her brother. She sees his pensive expression. “What?”

“Do you think he’s got anything to do with the disaster at the Triskelion Building yesterday?” he speculates.

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

She watches her brother shrug.

“Well you thought he was military and the utility belt and holsters suggest he is.”

“According to you maybe.”

She hears him sigh at this. She knows what’s going through his mind. That despite what happened to her she tries to see the best in everyone, is willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes she’s right, other times she isn’t and the one time she really got it wrong it ended up being borderline disastrous. She gets that he worries, doesn’t want a repeat of that experience.

“Think about it sis. His clothing isn’t exactly what we’d call normal streetwear, he’s very guarded, we don’t know anything about him apart from a name and who calls themselves Bucky? It sounds like a nickname more than anything else and his metal arm looks like nothing I’ve ever seen before. You have to admit, you’ve got to be curious about that at least!”

Yesterday the country watched as three giant Heli-Carriers, part of the Project In __sight venture exploded and crashed into the Potomac River, one of them taking the headquarters of SHIELD with it in a violent eruption of glass and concrete. It’s all the news channels have been talking about, along with the revelation that over the years SHIELD has been infiltrated by HYDRA, led down that path with Alexander Pierce at it's helm. The casualty list is massive, all the hospitals within a twenty mile radius of the disaster working flat out. The Triskelion building is now a smoking ruin, the river nearby a seething mass of twisted and burning metal. Alex watched a little of the news this morning while working in the bar. Even Captain America is reported to be in a hospital recuperating from injuries received in the catastrophe.

“It doesn’t explain how he ended up in our alley confused and in pain. Maybe the only reason we’ve only got his name is because that’s all he remembers?” Alex retorts and then she shakes her head.

“We’re not all that far from the river, he could’ve stumbled over from there,” Gabe reasons. 

“And it could all just be one great big coincidence,” Alex tells her brother though deep inside she’s beginning to wonder whether there’s any plausibility to his theory. “He could be gone by tomorrow. Today, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, like we do to everyone who comes through that door.”

“You’re a soft touch.” There’s no derision in his tone and she doesn’t take it as such. He just knows her well.

“I care. Someone has to. Go to sleep, tomorrow’s gonna be busy.”

* * *

 

She startles awake, breath caught in her throat, eyes wide as she tries to remember what it was that haunted her dreams like a wraith, lurking in corners, silently menacing. Half formed imagery that’s already beginning to fade, it leaves her with an elevated pulse and thrumming heartbeat, threads of anxiety chasing through an already tested nervous system. She lies still, breathing slowly, deeply, counting in the breath, holding and counting it out. A simple exercise, one that’s been useful to her over the years. Finally she feels everything settle within her and she becomes aware of other things, such as the rhythmic deep breathing as well as the soft snores of her brother on the couch at the bottom of her bed. The rest of the apartment is in silence, even the rain has stopped once and for all.

A low thump makes her heart jolt in her chest. A crash makes her sit up.

“Wass'at?” Gabe’s voice is sleepily confused but Alex is already kicking back the blankets and climbing out of bed.

“Bucky,” she answers as she hurries by.

She switches on the main light in the kitchen before heading into Bucky’s room. The overflowing light picks him out, standing in the centre of it, an arm curled across his stomach.

“Bucky?” she questions and as he turns in her direction, his legs seem to give out from under him and he falls to his knees, going down as if strings have been cut. Alex’s eyes widen in alarm and she dashes over to him, dropping down beside him, sliding an arm across his back. He’s breathing in short heavy pants.

“Bucky?” she repeats and with her other hand she brushes strands of hair from his face. The skin is clammy and damp. He turns his head in her direction.

“Sick,” he mutters and for a second she frowns in confusion. She looks up as Gabe stumbles into the room, his bag in his hand.

“What’s going on?” His eyes dart between them both.

“Not sure,” Alex replies, looking back down at Bucky. His eyes are wide, his arm tightening around his abdomen as his body seems to lurch. She then looks back up at her brother. “Get a bag, a trash bin, something, I think he’s gonna puke,” she tells him and watches as he dives out of the room. Bucky looks at her then, a look of mild panic crossing his face. It’s then that she realises that his sling is missing and she turns her head, trying to locate it.

“Your shoulder Bucky, you need to put the sling back on.”

“Don’t need it…no more,” he mutters, trying to take a deep enough breath. Anything she’s about to say in reply vanishes when Gabe returns carrying a bucket which he shoves in her direction. She grabs it from him and pushes it in front of Bucky and he grabs onto it. She watches as once more his body gives a strange kind of heave but nothing comes up. Alex remains kneeling beside him and she slowly and calmly rubs his back as his body lurches and trembles. In the meantime Gabe walks around the room straightening up the bedside cabinet, righting the lamp that lies on the floor, switching it on and bathing the room in a soft golden light. Then he moves to Bucky’s other side and he waits for the tremors to recede.

Bucky looks at Alex and she sees the exhaustion in his eyes. He’s ashen pale, darker dusty smudges swiped beneath both bloodshot watery eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks in a low voice. She sees how he frowns, licks his lips.

“Sore,” he whispers.

“That’s dry heaving for you, your stomach muscles don’t thank you for it.” She reaches across and places the back of her hand against his forehead and for once he doesn’t react, doesn’t recoil at her touch. She drops her hand and looks at Gabe who’s watching the proceedings carefully. “No fever,” she tells him and then reaches for his right arm and gently presses on the pulse point on his wrist.

Bucky looks at her and then down. His head feels heavy, like it weighs too much for his body. Damn this feeling of constant tiredness; he’s slept, felt like he slept for quite a while until the pain in his belly wrenched him out of whatever kind of slumber kept him captive. It didn’t feel like cryo. He wasn’t brought out of a pod and revived, dragged to the chair and… no he doesn’t want to think about what happens when he’s in the chair. Except that it hurts, it always hurts.

“Pulse is rapid,” he hears her murmur. He turns his head when he sees Gabe open his bag and take something out. The damned stethoscope again.

“No…stop…stop!” he demands. Alex pauses.

“I need to check you over,” she explains and he frowns, doesn’t appreciate being spoken to like a child.

“I’m okay, leave me alone.”

“Bucky, you’re not,” she keeps her voice soft. She watches as he struggles to his feet, trying to straighten on rubbery knees and all but collapsing on the side of the bed in the process. No, he’s not okay but he won’t be subjected to this again.

“Alex, leave him be,” Gabe interrupts, his voice equally soft. “He’s not gonna co-operate and trying to make him will just make him defensive.” Bucky turns his head and watches as Gabe moves to stand in front of him, crouches down so that he can look him square in the eye.

“Dry heaving…and you have the shakes.” He indicates his hands and Bucky looks down and he sees them trembling ever so slightly. He tightens them into fists instead and lifts his head to look back at him.

"You’re clammy, sweating, very pale. You look like you’re in withdrawal.”

Bucky breaks eye contact at this piece of information, frowning very slightly.

“Will you tell us what from?”

Bucky’s gaze snaps back to Gabe’s face and opens his mouth to respond, to deny but no words emerge. He gives a quiet sigh and closes it again, gives a little shake of his head. Feels his stomach begin to spasm again.

He doesn’t remember. No, not doesn’t remember, he doesn’t _know_. They didn’t make it their mission to tell him what they stuck in his veins, just that it kept him quiet and obedient. He tries to remember, think back to the last time they stuck a needle in the back of his hand but all he gets is static.

He glances at the back of his right hand but there’s nothing there, no mark, no scar. Of course there won’t be. He heals quick.  

“Gabe,” Alex intervenes and he can hear surprise in her voice, “I don’t think he knows,” she tells him.

 


	5. Chapter Five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky suffers. Internal thoughts and memories are in italics. All errors my own and unintentional.

_I’m a terrifying danger…_

Gabe looks at his sister in disbelief.

“How can he not know?”

“Because if he did, then he’d deny it whether it was true or not. Isn’t that the first reaction when you ask someone what drug they’re withdrawing from?”

_The scratch in the back of his hand, the meds that are supposed to keep him calm and obedient. Maybe it’s that. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. It was more than his life’s worth to ask. To question was to be ignored or punished. He learned not to ask. Was conditioned to do as he was told and not to ask questions but whatever it was that they gave him, it’s making him sick._

_He doesn’t get sick. Not like this. Part of his conditioning._

“It makes sense now…how he was earlier… the behaviour patterns…”

Bucky looks at Alex, curious now.

_Behaviour patterns? What’s she talking about?_

“He was fading in and out. When he said he didn’t remember how he injured his shoulder or how long ago, perhaps he doesn’t.”

_Oh. That._

_He remembers the how and kinda the why, just doesn’t really remember the who._

He wants to remind them both that he’s sitting right there. He doesn’t like that they talk about him like this, like he’s unimportant.

_‘Prep him’_

_‘But he’s been out of cryo for too long’_

_‘Wipe him then start over’_

_‘But I knew him’_

“Stop it!” he interrupts, all of a sudden irritated by them, by it all and they both stop talking and look at him. “I’m right here,” he whispers.

He feels cold all of a sudden, his skin prickles with it and it makes him hunch his shoulders, feeling a shiver tremble up his spine. He turns his head when he feels the mattress give beside him and looks into Alex’s blue eyes.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. He watches as she looks away, reaches behind her and pulls something towards her. She has a blanket in her hands which she slowly, carefully drapes across his shoulders. “We didn’t mean to do that. You don’t remember, do you?” she continues. He looks at her for what feels like a long time before looking away.

He’ll have to explain the why and he doesn’t trust them enough to see if they’d believe him or not.

“It’d help in how we could treat you,” Gabe adds. Bucky stares down at his hands again, sees how they still tremble. Doesn’t reply. Hears him sigh at his reluctance.

“I gotta get going Alex, I have an early start and I want to head home for a shower and something to eat before heading in.”

Bucky slowly lifts his head and watches as Alex gets to her feet and approaches her brother. Watches them embrace.

_‘Don’t do anything stupid until I get back’_

_‘How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you’_

_‘You’re a punk’_

_‘Jerk. Be careful.’_

Be careful of what, he wonders.

He lowers his head to stare at his lap again, lifts a hand to rub at his forehead once more. That voice again. Sounds like the man on the bridge, the man with the shield on the Heli-Carrier who swears he knows him, that he’s his friend. He still doesn’t understand how. He frowns against the headache that begins to brew, as if that’ll drive it back.

“Hey.” A shadow appears in front of him that makes the breath catch in the back of his throat and jerk back. “Sorry,” the voice apologises and he looks up into her eyes again.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, lowering his hand and then shaking his head.

“I’m just going to let Gabe out of the building, I’ll be gone all of five minutes okay?” she explains and sees him nod just the once. She frowns slightly as she scans his face.

“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep?” she suggests.

He just shakes his head.  “Can’t. Wide awake,” he answers in a low voice.

“Okay. Well, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back and we can talk if you want to?” He shrugs one shoulder.

“Maybe.”

She gets the impression it’s the last thing he wants to do.

* * *

 

Alex unlocks the front door and looks at Gabe.

“I’ll be okay,” she tells him, recognising how he looks at her, the slight frown between his eyes.

“So you keep telling me.”

“And I will be. Stop worrying.”

“The day I stop worrying is the day I stop being your big brother.”

“I’ve dealt with much worse.”

“Yeah and much worse almost killed you once, don’t you ever forget about that,” Gabe whispers back and Alex’s eyes blink wide at his candour, she’ll never ever forget about _that_. She hugs him instead.

“Be safe,” she hears him whisper against her ear. She draws back and smiles at him and she just nods.

“Don’t worry,” she assures him and then opens the door. The cool pre-dawn air surrounds and embraces her, the sun is just making an appearance, beginning to colour the sky a lighter blue.

“Easier said than done. Any problems then call me at work, someone will page me.”

“I will,” she promises and his gaze sharpens on her face.

“You’d better.”

She widens her eyes “And I said that I will. Jeez, go to work why don’t you, give a girl some peace!” she huffs out but her eyes twinkle all the same. Gabe grins and draws her into his arms for another hug.

“I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” He lets go of her, scans her face one more time.

“Okay. Have a good day,” she replies obediently and watches him walk away, disappearing into the early morning shadows, waving one time before he disappears.

* * *

 

She lets herself back into the apartment.

“It’s just me Bucky,” she calls into the silence as she comes through the door. As she closes it and turns the lock, she sees him in the doorway of his room. The blanket is still wrapped around his shoulders. He is ghastly pale, verging on grey and slightly hunched over. Her eyes widen in alarm and she hurries over to him. She reaches out to slide an arm across his back, intending to lead him back to bed but he shies away, taking a deliberate step away from her.

“No,” he tells her, his voice low, rusty and she frowns at him as she lowers her arm.

“The best place for you right now is in bed,” she tells him in a low voice. He glances her way and then shakes his head and she watches as he shuffles over to the window, putting a hand on the windowsill to brace himself.

“Can’t,” he mumbles, head bent, shoulders hunched. She goes to him, standing by his shoulder.

“Why?”

“Hurts. It all…hurts,” he mutters.

She quietly sighs and reaches for him, gently placing her hands on his arms and she feels his wince. Muscle pain, dry heaving, sweating…

She has a few ideas of what could be causing him to feel like this, none of them any good and recovery will take a while if she’s right.

“Come on, sit down before you fall down,” she gently urges him and directs him towards his bed, surprised when he complies. He slowly sits down on the side of it, moving stiffly and cautiously like an old man. She sits down beside him.

“I don’t know what’s goin’ on…” His voice is low.

“Do you remember taking anything that would make you feel like this?” she asks him and slowly he turns his head and he looks at her.

“No.”

But she sees how he looks down at his right hand, more to the point at the back of it. It piques her interest; he knows something but she gets the impression that he isn’t exactly quite sure what it is. A blood sample would identify whatever it is but she doubts he would consent and getting it somewhere to be analysed anonymously would be problematic, too many awkward questions asked.

“Perhaps we can treat the symptoms instead. Like I said yesterday, ice and heat are good for muscle pain. Your muscles are aching, right?”

Bucky just nods.

“Then we’ll use heat to begin with. I’ll fill a hot water bottle for you and you can hold it against where it hurts the most and see if it helps. Will you at least try that?”

He turns his head slightly in her direction.  Another nod.

“Good,” she murmurs and gets to her feet and heads off to hunt out her hot water bottle.

* * *

 

He slowly turns his head in her direction when he hears footsteps approaching. She has something in her arms, wrapped in a towel. He watches as she lowers herself down onto the bed beside him once more.

“I’ve wrapped it so it doesn’t burn you. Why don’t you get back into bed? even if you can’t sleep you could try and relax with this.” She lifts the wrapped package. He stares at her for a long moment.

“You’re already tense because of the pain which won’t help matters, at least now you can lie back down and I’ll put this wherever you’re hurting the most, your stomach, your back, legs, shoulder…”

“Why?” he interrupts impatiently, “Why are you doing this?”

She blinks at the vehemence she hears.

“Doing what? Helping you? I’ve already told you, it’s what I do.”

“But _why_? You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me. For all you know, I could be everything your brother is worried that I am.” He shakes his head, feeling irritation claw at him, leaving needle sharp barbs in his skin.

Alex doesn’t answer immediately, instead she just looks at him. “Are you?”

_‘You are to to be the new fist of Hydra.’_

_‘Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century.’_

The voices again. So many damned voices and he doesn’t really recognise any of them. He screws his eyes tightly shut for a moment.

_‘You’re my mission!’ Screaming at him, not wanting to or not ready to accept what he’s telling him as fact._

His eyes burst open on a gasp. Remembers seeing him below him, bruised, bloody and bleeding. Did he do that?

_‘Then finish it, cause I’m with you til the end of the line.’_

 “Bucky?”

He snaps his head around and she sees the distress, the tears that rim the bottom of his eyes, they're wide, frantic almost.  

“I don’t want to be,” he admits in a rough whisper. She takes a deep breath and reaches across and takes his right hand, wrapping her fingers around his, feeling the chilled clammy skin. He doesn’t retreat from the contact, she doesn’t think he’s really aware of what she’s doing. She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s okay,” she whispers back though she can feel hear her heart begin a slow pound as once more she wonders who he is, this stranger she all but scooped off the ground and offered aid and a place of safety to.

“Right now I want you to get back into bed and lie down and try to get comfortable and we’ll figure out what works for you and what doesn’t, okay?” She waits for him to acknowledge her and finally he does, nodding very slightly. She lets go of his hand as he shrugs the blanket off his shoulders and gets back into bed. She gets to her feet at the same time, watching as he lies down on his side, facing the room. She crouches down and he looks into her eyes.

“Where do you want this?” she asks him.

He slowly blinks. “Stomach,” he whispers. She leans forward and carefully places it up against his abdomen, watching his right arm curl over it to keep it close.

“Your shoulder…”

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he murmurs. She frowns at this. He should be wearing the sling for a day or two more but he’s been moving it freely and seemingly without feeling any kind of discomfort. She watches as he closes his eyes. It then occurs to her that the bruises that marked his face yesterday have disappeared completely.

* * *

 

His eyes open when he hears footsteps. He listens for a second before he pushes back the blanket and slides out of bed. He ignores how his stomach cramps, how his other muscles protest as he moves, stealth-like to his bedroom door. It’s been left partially open and he stands there for a second and continues to listen. He hears nothing out of the ordinary but the back of his neck prickles in warning.

_Danger. Compromised. Be careful._

He straightens when he hears slow heavy footsteps outside the apartment and he moves silently to the right of the front door of the apartment, his eyes scoping out the kitchen and the living room as he passes them by. Sees nothing. He hears the door give a click and begin to swing open and he presses himself as flat as possible and waits. As the door widens, Bucky lunges.

He grabs the man entering the apartment around his throat with his left hand and he hauls him into the apartment. He kicks the door shut and he slams him up against the wall, lifting him until the tip of his toes scrape the floor. The man stares at him in fright, gasping for breath.

“What… the… hell…” he hisses out, choking as Bucky tightens his grip.

“Who sent you?” Bucky demands. The man widens his eyes. He’s tall, blond, muscular. A face glitches in his memory, coming clearly into focus for a second. Bucky stares at him in surprise seeing the face superimpose itself over the man’s.

“Steve?” he whispers.

“No... Callum,” the man gasps, one hand coming around the metal one that’s threatening to crush his windpipe.

Just like that the face he sees flickers and vanishes, disappearing into the static.

“Bucky? What…what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

He hears Alex’s voice from behind him and she hurries to his left hand side, reaching for his metal arm, hands going around the wrist and giving it an ineffectual tug. “Bucky, this is Callum, who lives downstairs. He’s okay…let go of him!” she tells him, giving his arm another tug. She then rams an elbow into his side and he grunts at the sudden sharp pain and releases his grip on him. The man gives a loud noisy wheeze and almost falls over, would have if Alex hadn’t grabbed him.

“What the hell man?” Callum rasps out, rubbing his throat. Alex stands in front of him and turns and glares at Bucky.

“What are you doing out of bed?” she hisses at him. She sees how he gives her a look of confusion as he begins to sway on his feet, his eyes sliding shut.

“Damn it!” she curses as she lunges towards him, sliding an arm across his back, pulling his arm across her shoulders as his legs give out from under him. She staggers beneath his weight and then sees Callum come to Bucky’s other side and grab his other arm and pull it across his shoulders. Together they haul him back to his room and put him back to bed. Alex rolls him onto his side, once more facing the room and tucks the blankets around him again. Bucky’s eyes flutter open, fixing on her face for a moment.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. Alex crouches down by his bedside and brushes an errant strand of hair from over his eyes. He’s still a little cold to the touch, his skin clammy and sticky.

“We’ll talk a little bit later, okay? Try and rest. I’ll get you a fresh hot water bottle.” She reaches down and picks it up off the floor where it’s obviously dropped when he climbed out of bed. She looks at Callum but her expression is carefully blank. She sees how he looks back at Bucky, where he’s lying absolutely motionless in bed before he follows her out.

“That’s the guy you found beside the dumpster yesterday?” he whispers as he follows Alex into her kitchen.

“That’s Bucky, yes,” she confirms as she goes to fill a tea kettle with water and puts it on the stove, switching it on. She glances at him over one shoulder.

“I’m sorry about before, he’s sick, got a touch of the flu,” she apologises and sees his eyes widen in mild disbelief as his hand comes up to massage his throat which has a nasty looking red mark around it.

“For having a touch of flu he has a wicked strong grip.”

Alex gives a shrug. “You know how it is with viruses like that; he’s running a fever, suffering from hallucinations, sees things, imagines things.”

“I can believe that, he wanted to know who sent me and then he called me Steve,” Callum tells her and Alex slowly turns to look at him, her expression becoming speculative.

“Really? Did he say anything else?”

Callum just shakes his head. “No. Actually he asked if I _was_ Steve, got the strangest look on his face for a brief second before he sort of phased out and then you showed up when you did, thank God.”

“Yeah. I didn’t even hear him get out of bed.” She feels herself blush when he raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I’ve been keeping an eye on him…not like you…think. Never mind.” She smiles self-consciously and shakes her head slightly, “Would you like to stay for coffee?” she invites instead.

“Normally I would love to but believe it or not, this was just a flying visit before your ninja soldier decided to go all special ops on me. I didn’t even see him standing there until he grabbed me. Scared the crap outta me. Connor said he was squirrelly, he wasn’t kidding,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I can say. I’m sure he’ll apologise to you when he’s more…lucid.”

Callum shakes his head. “No, I get it. Your newspapers incidentally are probably in a heap beside your front door. That was the purpose of my visit, that and to see how your newest case was getting along. Mission accomplished on both accounts I think.” He grins at her.

“You’re being awfully cool about all of this Cal,” she tells him, grateful for his understanding and sees him shrug.

“Yeah, well what you do is cooler, helping people the way you do.” He watches how she bites her lip and smiles somewhat shyly. She isn’t comfortable with being reminded of what she does or why. Below the radar is how she prefers to operate.

“You’re welcome. Look, I don’t know when I’ll be able to help out downstairs, it might be a few days before Bucky is on his feet.”

“Take your time and you know I’m downstairs if you need an extra pair of hands. I could call by tonight once the bar closes up if you want me to?” he suggests.

“I should be okay but thanks. Gabe stayed over last night to help out, I’m hoping Bucky’ll be a bit more settled tonight.”

God she hopes so, she needs the rest herself.

* * *

 

Callum heads out as the tea kettle boils and she fills the hot water bottle and wraps it back in the towel. She also fills a glass with water and carries both into Bucky’s room.

He’s restless, tossing and turning and shivering, his legs cycling somewhat restlessly beneath the blankets. His eyes pop open and he goes absolutely still when he hears her approach. She places the water on the bedside cabinet and then crouches down by his bedside again, waiting until he makes eye contact.

“Here,” she tells him, carefully peeling the blanket away from his body and slotting the hot water bottle back in. He holds it close to his body but she sees how anxious he is.

“Still hurting?” she asks even though she knows that he is.

“Yeah,” he mutters, and she can hear the strain in his answer. He clenches his teeth together and gives a low quiet moan, his eyes closing. He’s close to unravelling once more.

She reaches across and puts her hand on his shoulder. He goes tense and still but she carefully slides her hand down to his elbow and back again in slow, gentle strokes.

“Breathe with me Bucky,” she invites, keeping her tone soft. She takes a slow deep breath and holds it and sees how his eyes slide open and he watches her. She mentally counts to five and then she slowly exhales. His eyes never leave her face.

“Again, take a slow deep breath in and hold.”  As she slides her hand up and down from his elbow to his shoulder, she sees how his chest fills, expands and she quietly counts to five. “And exhale,” she tells him and he does. They do this several times and gradually she feels the tension that quivers inside of him begin to ease off.

 “This will pass, you have to remember that Bucky. You feel like hell now but it’ll pass, I’m just not sure when. You’re gonna have to tough it out for now,” she whispers. He doesn’t reply but his eyes don’t leave her face, not for a moment.

“And I’ll try to help you however I can.”


	6. Chapter Six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tentative bond begins to develop between Alex and Bucky.

 

**_I’m a fruit decaying on the ground…_ **

_Gabe always says that the full moon brings out the wildest of souls and tonight each cubicle is filled with them. She walks past each one on her way to the latest emergency, her mind filled with potential scenarios that will demand her attention and expertise, embracing how her heart pumps as she experiences the familiar sharp rush of adrenaline flooding through her veins._

_But just like that, the energy fades and is replaced by a thick heavy blanket of apprehension. It condenses the atmosphere around her into something more tangible._

_She hears the footsteps then; slow, heavy, deliberate. They echo loudly around the otherwise busy room._

_Activity buzzes around her but yet all she can hear are those footsteps above it all._

_She pauses when she realises she can’t hear anything else. Stops and turns her head. Doctors, nurses, patients, they’re all busy, occupied, rushing about, demanding attention, giving medical assistance as usual but it’s like someone has turned the volume down. She frowns at them, wondering why, how this could be happening. She can still hear those heavy deliberate footsteps and it sets her heart pounding, fear sliding through her veins, sweat to pop out on her forehead. She tells herself that she doesn’t know why but she does and those footsteps are getting closer, louder._

_And then they stop._

_He rises up in front of her, a malevolent shadow. Can’t make out his face but she knows him. She knows him. She recognises him. Is afraid of him. Turns to run away, to get to safety but her feet refuse to move. She looks down at them, willing them to go, to take her away from here but it’s as though her brain and her feet no longer have the ability to communicate and she’s stuck fast. She can’t get away._

_She knows what happens next, she always knows what’s going to happen next. Heart is almost bursting out of her chest and she looks up with wide eyes to face him. Takes a deep breath, opens her mouth to plead._

_He stands there, so close to her that if she reaches out, she’ll be able to touch him but she doesn’t. Her mouth is dry but she opens it to speak to him, to plead but nothing emerges but a weak hoarse squeak. No words. He stands there, a dark shape, eyes filled with hate and lifts the weapon he holds in his right hand and aims it at her. His bright coloured eyes are filled with ice, with open blatant hatred._

_“Please…” she manages to whisper through numb lips though she knows he can’t hear her. “Please.”_

_“Bitch,” he curses her and pulls the trigger._

* * *

 

She jerks awake as the sound of gunfire fills her ears, gasping out loud, hand clutching at her chest. Heart racing. Her eyes wheel around the room, cast in the long dark shadows of dusk. Turns her head and sees Bucky lying asleep in bed, still for once, his right arm curled around his head, dark hair tossed across his face. She’s panting as once more her eyes take in her surroundings, looking for _him_ in the shadows even though she knows he isn’t there. She’s sitting on the floor beside Bucky’s bed, head resting against the mattress. She turns her head back to him but he hasn’t moved. She has no idea of the time nor of how long she’s been asleep. Carefully she straightens up, her ass feels numb being seated on such a hard wooden floor and she slowly gets to her feet, grimacing at protesting muscles. Once more she looks at him but he’s still sound asleep. She stretches and slowly hobbles out.

She goes into the kitchen, switching on a light. Her heart still thrums in her chest, residual adrenaline still sparks through her central nervous system. She wipes at her face. In the past a glass of wine would help ease her after a bad dream but she goes to the tea kettle instead and she fills it from the faucet, returning it to the stove and switching it on. Tea helps nowadays. A cup of tea in her hand, steaming away while her thoughts collect and settle.

Damn it, it’s been a while since the dream last visited her in such vivid detail. Recently it’s just been vague hints, a mild threat felt rather than seen. She chews on her lower lip as she waits for the kettle to boil. She knows he’s not here and never will be but she’s unsettled, twitchy at the quiet that surrounds her.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep but looking after Bucky since before dawn has taken its toll. It’s been a rough few hours since he almost crushed Callum’s throat. He’s tried to drink some water but it didn’t stay down and he vomited it all up almost as soon as he consumed it. He’s tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable and failed. She’s almost called Gabe a few times but what could he do? What could he do that she couldn’t do herself? He still refuses the offer of painkillers, won’t tell her why, just closes his eyes and clenches his jaw against the pain throbbing through him.

The kettle boils and she goes through the process of making tea. She feels a tingle at the back of her neck and as she turns, she sees Bucky standing beside the kitchen island. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.” She eyes him. He’s upright, which means something but still spectre pale, skin pulled taut over high cheekbones. “I’d ask whether you’d like some tea but I’m not sure you’ll be able to keep it down,” she continues. She sees how his eyes flick to the cup on the bench and the steaming kettle in her hand.

“Stomach doesn’t hurt anymore,” he mumbles.

Alex’s eyes widen in mild surprise. “That’s good to hear.” Very good; stomach spasms with withdrawal can last for days. “Would you like to try some tea or some more water?” she asks.

“Tea,” he answers. Alex nods and retrieves another cup from the cupboard which housed her own.

* * *

 

Bucky watches her make tea, taking down a delicate looking tea cup from a cupboard and pop something inside of it and pour boiling water into it.

_He remembers his ma drinking tea. A pink and white tea cup with gold edging. There was a tiny chip in the saucer but she loved it all the same._

He blinks and watches as Alex places the cup in front of him and then pulls out the stool in front of him.

“Sit down,” she gently instructs and watches as he hitches a hip and does exactly that. She follows suit but she’s careful to maintain a safe distance between them. She picks up her cup and takes a cautious sip, watching him as he looks down at the brew.

“I have milk and sugar if you’d prefer?” she asks when he makes no attempt to pick the cup up. He lifts his eyes to her face, carefully shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he whispers.

“Hopefully it’ll help settle your stomach, tea can be good for that. Coffee is too harsh for a sensitive stomach I find.”

His flesh and blood hand trembles slightly as he scoops the cup up, wrapping long fingers around the curve of it and he slowly lifts it to his lips and takes a slow, experimental sip.

“My…mother…used to think so too,” he murmurs, voice rusty, as he lowers it back down again, his tongue swiping at his lower lip. 

Alex widens her eyes slightly at this tiny piece of shared information.

“Your mom drinks tea?”

He looks at her over the rim of the cup as he takes another sip, satisfied that his stomach hasn’t revolted at the first mouthful.

“She did,” he answers just as quietly and she gets the subtle message, the past tense.

“I mean coffee is good and all, especially first thing in the morning when you need that extra little jolt but not when you’re recovering.” She pauses, closing her mouth and gives a little shake of her head. “Sorry. I’m babbling,” she apologises.

“It’s okay.”

“Some might say it’s annoying,” she tells him.

“I don’t.”

She dimples a smile at him. “Give me a couple of days and you might change your mind,” she tells him and then stops and looks down at her own cup and he sees a blush heat her cheeks.

“Sorry. I’ll be quiet now,” she tells him, not meeting his eyes.

He watches her, wondering what’s got her so on edge. He takes a breath.

“She used to drink tea out of a pink and white tea cup, the only one she had,” he tells her.

“You bought the tea cup for her?” she guesses.

He slowly shrugs one shoulder in response.

“What was her name?” she asks softly.

He opens his mouth to tell her but halts. His mind is blank, the static is back. He can’t remember.

He closes his mouth once more and sighs with a subtle shake of his head. He can remember that she drank tea, that he bought her that pink and white cup but not her name?

 _Damn it_. _Names are really avoiding him at the moment_

Alex regards him for a moment and she sees the shutters coming down again.

“Can I ask you something?”

His eyes flick back to her face but he doesn’t answer but waits for her question all the same.

“Who’s Steve?” she asks, keeping her voice low. She sees his eyes widen marginally as he looks away from her, staring at a spot in front of him. She sees how he worries his bottom lip as he seems to mull it over.

“A friend, I think,” he eventually replies and she frowns slightly.

“You think?”

He looks back at her. “I don’t really remember,” he admits. “Why?”

“Because you called Callum that when you grabbed him by the throat earlier today,” she replies and she sees the shock blossom on his face, quickly masked.

“I…” He just shakes his head.

“He’s okay, he understood. I told him you were sick but you had a pretty good hold on him, I thought I wasn’t going to be able to get you to let go of him in time.”

He remembers a sudden sharp pain in his left hand side, just below his ribs. His expression is speculative as he looks back at her. She just shrugs nonchalantly.

“I’ve learned a few things,” she murmurs, reading the question in his eyes.

“I’m sorry…I don’t remember…that. It’s not a good impression to make on your boss,” he softly confesses and once more she shrugs.

“Perhaps, if he was my boss which he isn’t.”

“You told me he runs the bar.”

“And he does, he doesn’t own it though, or the building.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise. “You do?”

“I do. It’s a long story.” She drains her tea cup and gets to her feet, going to the sink to rinse it out.

“Seems you have one or two of those.” His voice is quiet and strangely non-judgemental. Alex turns and she looks at him.

“I could say the same of you.”

“I…” Once more words fail him. He rests his right elbow on the bench top and rubs at his forehead with his fingers, a mild frown on his face.

“Headache?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs back, feeling it throb behind his eyes. He hears her approach him and he lowers his hand and turns his head in her direction.

“Yet you won’t take any pain pills.”

He regards her and decides to take a small chance with her.

“Because they won’t work on me. I burn through them too quick for them to do anything.”

She sits back down beside him. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

He wants to tell her that she’s never heard of him before but doesn’t. Just lets out a quiet sigh instead, looking away from her face, staring at the bench top instead.

“It’ll be a residual effect of whatever it is you’re coming down from.”

He looks back at her at her pronouncement.

“You make me sound like a…” He frowns as he tries to remember the word.

“Addict? Junkie?” she suggests and watches how his eyes widen. “Aren’t you?”

He just shakes his head.

“No…I’m not…I’m not that,” he whispers.

“Then what are you?” she asks him.

_James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. Soldat. The Asset. The Winter Soldier._

_Any of them. All of them. None of them._

“I don’t know,” he confesses.

* * *

 

He watches as once more she gets to her feet.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks her in a low voice as she heads to a floor cupboard situated in front of him. She pauses and looks at him and her eyes become wide with surprise.

“No. Why would you think you should leave?”

“Because I’m nothing but trouble it would seem.” He watches her pull a plain black backpack out of the cupboard and place it on the bench in front of him.

“You’re not trouble though I will agree that you’re a challenge but I welcome those. No, for whatever reason, you don’t trust me and why should you because we’ve just met but you’re no better or worse than anyone else I’ve helped in the past.”

She unzips the backpack and he sees the stethoscope she lifts out and he looks up at her. She looks into his eyes, recognising the mutinous expression.

“Please. I need to do this. I just want to take a listen to your chest, your lungs, that kind of thing. The time you take in fussing over it, I could be done and dusted twice over,” she sighs.

“You said you don’t practice medicine any more,” he reminds her.

“It doesn’t mean that I can’t.”

“I heal quick,” he mumbles.

“So I can see but I still need to check you over. Will you at least trust me for five minutes while I do?” she requests, holding his gaze.

_‘You don’t trust me and why should you because we’ve just met…’_

Her words echo inside of his head. She hasn’t given him cause to not trust her, she’s kept her word ever since their first encounter outside. His sigh is quiet.

“Okay,” he agrees.

“I also want to check your shoulder too, just in case I need to put that sling back on,” she tells him as she picks up her stethoscope and approaches him.

“My shoulder is fine,” he answers.

Alex stares at him for a moment.

“Let me be the judge of that,” she replies calmly and the look he sends her is distinctly non-compliant. She stares at him until he’s the first one to look away.

“Fine,” he sighs.

“Thank you,” she tells him. He watches her as she unfolds the stethoscope and slowly approaches him. She pushes the ear pieces into her ears and he sees her rub the disc part against her t-shirt before she returns her attention to him.

“You need to turn and face me,” she tells him and he slowly swivels so he is. She glances into his eyes as she reaches for the bottom of his t-shirt and she slowly lifts it. She can’t see any sign of the bruises she saw there the day before, they’ve completely vanished. There’s no fading or changing colours of a healing bruise, they’re just not there.

* * *

 

He remains still as she presses the disc against his upper chest and sees the look of complete concentration on her face as she listens. She then drops the hem of his t-shirt and moves around behind him. The back of his neck prickles when he feels her lift his t-shirt again and he feels both hands clench into fists.

“Slow deep breath and hold,” she instructs in a low voice. He blinks but doesn’t move.

“Bucky? Deep breath,” she reminds him and she waits. Eventually, finally he does.

She moves the disc along his back and then down a little and listens, each time asking him to breathe and feeling a little tick of relief when he complies. Satisfied, she removes her stethoscope and hooks it around her shoulders and comes around to stand in front of him. She smiles at him when he eventually lifts his eyes and he looks at her.

“Everything sounds great. Just need to do another check…”

He watches as she replaces her stethoscope into the back pack and she takes out a small narrow looking implement that he then realises is a thin flashlight when she clicks it on and off and the beam blinks on and off accordingly. She looks back at him and pauses when she sees his frown.

“I just need to shine this in your eyes, check the pupil reflexes, it’s the final test I promise before I look at your shoulder,” she tells him when she sees how he clenches his jaw.

He recoils the first time the beam of light flashes across his left eye and he gives a tiny gasp of alarm. He’s barely aware of Alex in front of him as she repeats the procedure with his right eye, she flicks it quickly across his line of vision but it makes his heart bump in his chest and he pulls away, blinking, seeing flashes of light flutter behind his eyelids.

_‘Wipe him then start over’_

_The mouth guard is placed between his teeth; he accepts it now, never used to and once upon a time his handlers didn’t even give him that. Restraints clamp around his arms, his left forearm, right upper arm and forearm and he gives a gasp as he’s yanked back into the chair and held firm by the strength of the bonds._

_He can hear the machine hum into place, knows what’s coming next. Sees the plates in his peripheral vision as they move, slide to either side of his head, press up against his skull, against his skin. Trembles as he prepares himself, breath heaving in his lungs, hands clenched tight, getting ready, getting ready…. This time he won’t scream. He knows what to expect now. Startles when the plates press more firmly, hears the buzz and crackle of the electricity. Screams as it pulses through him._

Alex feels him flinch. Her eyes go wide and she quickly clicks the little flashlight off, dropping it onto the bench surface beside her. His eyes are wide, staring off into space, fixed and lost. She remembers the same expression crossing his face the day before downstairs when she warned Gabe to be careful.

“Bucky?” She keeps her voice low, sees and hears how his breath begins to saw in his lungs, hands clenched tightly. He’s scared of something but she doesn’t know what.

“Hey,” she murmurs, watching him, looking down at his hands before looking back into his eyes. They’re glassy looking, over full. He shivers very slightly.

“Bucky…” Carefully she places her hands on his, wrapping her fingers around his right hand, feeling the smooth cool metal of his left.

“Everything is okay do you hear me? I need you to concentrate on the sound of my voice. You’re with me in my apartment and you’re safe. Nothing and nobody can hurt you. You need to try and breathe, can you do that, can you remember how we did it earlier? Deep breath in and hold for the count of five and exhale, can you do that? Can you copy me? Breathe Bucky.” She tightens her grip on him as she takes a slow deep breath, her eyes not leaving his face but he still shakes and trembles and she hears the whimper that he tries to swallow down. She lets go of him and she lifts both hands to his face, framing the sides, thumbs gently rubbing beneath his cheekbones.

“Look at me Bucky, focus on me, on my face. Try to listen to my voice. Whatever is going on inside of your head, it’s not real. You’re here with me in my kitchen and you’re safe,” she tells him. She repeats the mantra over and over and startles when his hands all of a sudden come up and clamp around her wrists and he’s back with her, right there, staring into her eyes, still quivering. Her own eyes are wide with trepidation as she stares back, the intensity of his gaze burning into her.

She lets go of him and lowers her hands, his still clamped around her wrists. He releases his hold and gives a deep sigh and she sees the tremors that ripple through him, sees the tiny little frown between his eyes. She bites her lip and takes a slow cautious step closer to him and with a trembling hand, she slides it around the back of his neck and draws his head against her chest. He lets her and she feels the weight of his head against her breast. He remains still, the silence heavy as she slowly, gently, strokes his hair.

He stares at nothing in particular as he feels her gentle ministrations. So long. It’s been such a long time since anyone touched him with care or anything close to regard. He feels hot tears well up and he does nothing to hold them back, his face crumpling as he feels them break through.

Her own heart pulses in her chest as she comforts him, hears the low almost desperate sob quickly subdued and viciously swallowed down. It lasts barely a moment before he goes stiff. His breathing changes once more and then he gives her a short almost savage nudge that makes her stumble back. He doesn’t look at her as he slides off the stool and heads out of the kitchen. She watches him leave.

* * *

 

“Hey Alex?” Another voice intrudes and startles her and she turns her head and sees Gabe striding into her kitchen now, a wedge of paper underneath one arm. “Why is your newspaper in a heap on the floor beside the…” He stops and looks at her and his eyes slowly widen when he sees the expression on his sister’s face.

“What’s happened?” he demands.

Alex takes a slow deep breath, filling her lungs. She blinks and then focuses her attention on her brother and she makes herself smile.

“Nothing’s happened, why do you ask?” she asks, turning and picking up her equipment and dropping it back into her back pack, zipping it shut with deliberate care.

“Because you look like someone just died, that’s why,” Gabe answers. He comes closer and drops the newspaper onto the bench beside her. “In fact the last time you _did_ look at me like that was after you came back from the vet after having Charlie put to sleep, so what’s happened? Did Bucky leave? I heard what happened earlier with Callum…”

“No, Bucky’s still here and I promise you, I’m fine, really I am,” she reassures him.

“Okay,” he tells her but he doesn’t believe her.

 


	7. Chapter Seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes a discovery.

_I’m a swallower of anger…_

**Chapter Seven:**

“Was that Bucky I saw just now?” Gabe enquires, watching her as she puts her medical bag away.

“Yeah,” she confirms.

“He’s on his feet, that’s encouraging.”

He notices the empty tea cup on the bench alongside her own and points at it. “So is that.”

Alex looks at it, then goes to it and she picks it up and carries it to the sink.

“And it’s stayed down, which is even more encouraging as he couldn’t even tolerate water a few hours ago.”

“Really? That’s quick.”

Alex shrugs. “He said he heals quick and he wasn’t kidding, his bruising has also gone. All of it.”

She glances back at him and sees his look of surprise.

“How is that even possible?”

 She slowly shakes her head, “I don’t know.”  She then takes a deep breath and regards him.

“You don’t have to be here all the time y’know, Bucky and I are getting along just fine, hasn’t tried to murder me in my sleep or anything.”

“That’s not even funny Alex,” Gabe replies, his voice low.

“No, you’re right but we’ve been okay today apart from the incident with Callum. I mean it’s been rough at times, muscle pain and vomiting seemed to have been the worse problems but the pain seems to have gone and vital signs are stable.” She doesn’t mention the incident after the flashlight and the aftermath.

“He had his hand around Callum’s throat.”

“It was a hallucination, you know they can happen. Do you have any idea what he could’ve been withdrawing from? I was thinking perhaps a benzo dependency but I’m not completely sure.  It would explain why he still doesn’t remember and why he also swears he isn’t an addict.”

She thinks back to how he looked at the back of his right hand when she initially mentioned withdrawal and thought perhaps an intravenous drip of some kind but there’s no sign of scarring or markings of any kind on his hand and she can’t understand why it would be given like that, injection yes but in the back of the hand? Under what circumstances would it be administered like that?

“And most addicts become expert liars, Alex,” her brother reminds her.

She gives a half-hearted shrug. “They do but he doesn’t play like an addict and if he’s lying then he should be on the stage because he’s the best damn one I’ve ever seen. You get to recognise them and he’s just not coming across as such. He hasn’t had any cravings for more, hasn’t made any attempt to get out of here to score, hasn’t asked for more to make him feel better. He still won’t accept pain killers.” She pauses and bites her bottom lip.

“I’m still going with the idea that he doesn’t know what it was or what it is he’s coming down from and that to me suggests a benzo dependency, some can cause some degree of memory loss, amnesiac like symptoms, it’s rare but it’s been known to happen. Remember how he looked at the back of his hand when you asked him what he was coming down from, the expression on his face?  He couldn’t remember. ”

“You know what that suggests, don’t you?”

Alex lifts her eyes to her brother’s face, her expression becoming troubled and she just nods.

Control.

* * *

 

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon. He stands at the window, resting his elbows on the sill and he stares out across the rooftops, staring at nothing in particular. He lifts his eyes upwards, seeing the various shades of orange and pink and blue; he can still see stars dotted here and there up high on the darkest edges but they fade away the closer to the horizon he looks. It’s quiet at this time of the morning but it won’t last for long.

He’s feeling restless, didn’t sleep all that well through the night, woken up several times from nameless unspecified dreams, amorphous shadows lurking in the corners of his mind, a vague threat hanging in the air. The agitation scraped at his skin until he finally gave up trying and has spent the time til sun rise taking in the landscape in front of him, staring up at the stars. Waiting for some semblance of calm to claim him.

_Sitting on the fire escape, arms wrapped around upturned knees, staring up at the navy blue sky, those tiny lights punctured through the night time fabric, blinking and twinkling. He’s often wondered what else is up there, whether there was someone like him on another far away planet staring up at the same kind of stars and wondering about someone like him._

_“Whaddya doin’ out there Buck?” The voice is quiet, far away._

_“Just contemplatin’ the meanin’ of life Steve, that’s all’_

_‘Can’t you do that from inside, you’re lettin’ all the cold air in, the place is freezin’’._

_A long inaudible sigh. A roll of the eyes. A moment of guilt. The cold damp air will affect his lungs. He should’ve remembered that._

_‘Yeah yeah, gimme a minute’_

“Bucky?”

He flinches when he hears her voice, turns his head and sees her standing in the door way. Wonders what she’s doing awake so early.

“Hey,” she greets quietly but doesn’t come in. He straightens up and turns more fully around.

“Hey.” He feels every kind of awkward facing her after yesterday. It still sits uneasily inside of him that he crumbled like that in front of her.

“Do you feel like something to eat? I’m about to make breakfast.”

He looks at her, framed by the light spilling out of the kitchen. She wears a robe over pyjamas of some description and her hair isn’t tied back any more, it tumbles loosely over her shoulders.

He just nods.

* * *

 

She’s moving around the kitchen when he enters. He watches her open cupboard doors and take out a variety of cooking implements; pans, bowls that sort of thing and arrange them on the countertop beside the stove. She turns and sees him hovering in the doorway and she smiles at him, a warm sunny kind of smile that makes him frown back.

“I was thinking of starting you on something light this morning. While it’s wonderful you were able to keep down the tea you drank last night, solid food may have the opposite effect. You hungry?”

He recognises that he’s starving and his right hand smooths across his stomach at the realisation. She notices the movement and she smiles again.

“How are you with eggs?” she asks him and sees him frown once again.

He just shrugs. “Okay I guess.”

Her eyes widen with mild surprise. “You guess? You don’t know?”

He shakes his head, walking slowly to the kitchen island and he sits on the stool there. _No questions._ He’s been waiting for her questions about yesterday evening. _Everyone has questions, don’t they?_ He bends his head, pulling the fingers of his right hand through his hair. He hears a door open and close, hears the jingle of bottles bumping together and then a glass of orange juice materialises in front of him and he lifts his head and looks at her.

“Vitamin C, good for you. Drink,” she urges and carries the carton of eggs she’s also retrieved to the stove. He quietly sighs and looks down at the short squat glass, picks it up and takes a tiny experimental sip and feels the cold citrusy tang explode on his tongue. He takes another bigger sip, savouring the taste of it in his mouth.

It’s then that he notices the newspaper folded in front of him. He frowns and reaches across and carefully slides it closer to him, unfolding it. The headlines scream at him in inch high black lettering the events of the Project Insight disaster. He takes in the photographs; the Heli Carriers partially submerged in the Potomac, broken, blackened and burned hulks of metal, billions of dollars turned into glorified junk.

_His mission. To stop him. No matter what. One last time. It’s what is required of him. Failure is not an option._

_Help shape the century._

_He failed._

He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until he turns the page and he takes in the rest of the headlines. Tall black lettering literally screaming about the infiltration and subsequent collapse of SHIELD. His eyes slowly widen when he sees the black and white photograph of the man with hair he somehow knows is brownish blond, eyes that he also knows are ice blue and just as cold and cruel and merciless; eyes that have borne into his demanding a mission report, the back hand felt across his own face when he didn’t immediately comply. The taste of blood in his mouth ignored by thoughts of the man on the bridge. Thoughts he vocalised and was then punished for.

He frowns.

A man who could charm world leaders into giving him what he wanted and then just as quickly order their destruction. The breath catches in his throat and he pushes the newspaper away from him, as if physically burned by it.

_‘Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century.’_

By killing, maiming and carrying out the dirty work of ambitious greedy men, perhaps it was. Perhaps he did. Whether he had a choice or not, he did it. Doesn’t remember names and over time the faces become blurred together. Missions are just that to him; targets that once he’s wiped are forgotten or relegated to fuzzy half memories. The machine obliterates everything else; any memories, any guilt, any emotion until all he’s left with is the residue and this overwhelming feeling of disconnection.

_Wasn’t he known as a ghost story?_

_Living in a netherworld. Invisible. Unknown. Rumoured._

 “Alexander Pierce.”

Her voice startles him out of his spiralling thoughts and he looks at her blankly. She’s whisking eggs in a bowl, looking at the newspaper over his shoulder. Hadn’t even heard her approach.

“What?”

“The guy whose picture you were just looking at. His name is Alexander Pierce, much revered elder Statesman. Or at least he was. He’s dead now, found in the ruins of the Triskelion, two bullets to the chest.” He watches as she slowly shakes her head. “Fitting end for him, the traitorous bastard.”

“How… how do you know about that?” he asks. She looks at him.

“It’s all over the news. Something on that scale, how could it not be? Didn’t you notice it, see it? We’re not too far from the river here.”

He doesn’t answer, looking back at the newspaper.

Pierce is dead?

He wonders who else went down with him, maybe they all did? Would anyone be searching the bottom of the Potomac for him or would they readily accept that he too was a statistic? He takes a deep shaky breath. He can’t get too complacent. It could take weeks before anyone within the inner circle realises, before anyone joins the dots. They could already know and be searching for him right now.

_Watches him plummet with the rest of the detritus that rains down around them. One moment he’s beneath him, face bruised and battered, urging him to finish it, the next a large chunk of debris tumbles past, crashing through the wreckage, taking him with it almost as collateral damage. He watches him fall, growing smaller and smaller within the chaos._

_Follows him down, grabs his shoulder harness and kicks for the shore. Drags him out of the water and looks down at his battered face. Leaves him there, to go where he doesn’t know._

The thought of finally being free? It’s almost too much for him to contemplate. He watches as Alex goes back to making breakfast before he reaches for the newspaper a second time and he begins to read the story again. His eyes pause on a photograph at the bottom of the article, small and almost out of the way. A tall blond man, clad in blue and white and red. Checks out the name typewritten underneath.

_Steve Rogers: Captain America._

He frowns slightly as he absorbs this piece of information. _Steve_ …could this be the man on the bridge? It’s the same name he called Alex’s friend according to her though he doesn’t remember that.

_‘I thought you were dead’_

_‘I thought you were smaller’_

Someone just as blonde but shorter, thinner, sicklier looking.

His eyes go back to the photograph in disbelief. How? How is it the same person?

He flinches when a plate appears beside his arm.

“You know there’s an exhibition dedicated to Captain America at the Smithsonian? Huge crowds every day, very popular.”

Bucky lifts his head and looks at her as she sits opposite him.

“You ever been there?”

She shakes her head. “Too busy mostly but it’s supposed to be very good.” She looks into his eyes. “Try and eat something, you’ve gone awfully pale again,” she tells him and he looks down at his plate once more, at the silverware beside it. Eggs. She said she was making him some eggs. He pulls the plate across, glances up at her again.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You’re welcome,” she tells him.

As she eats her own breakfast, she keeps a surreptitious eye on Bucky and notices that he eats the same way as he had the day she found him. Those same expressions travel across his face; caution, curiosity and finally bliss. He’s decided that he likes eggs and she hopes to God that they like him. Drinking tea and eating solid food are two decidedly different things and she hopes his stomach is agreeable to the idea of the more solid stuff. Watching him get to his feet and carry the empty plate and glass to the sink, she thinks that perhaps it is.

* * *

 

“You’ll feel better after a shower,” she tells him, handing him the washbag that has ended up on the floor at the bottom of his bed along with the towels she placed there prior to his arrival. He regards her, eyes somewhat blank with surprise. He hasn’t washed, brushed his teeth or changed out of his jeans and t-shirt since he got here.

“And while you’re in the shower, I’ll change your sheets. Come on, I’ll show you how everything works, it’s really easy.” He watches as she turns and heads out of his room and he has no option but to follow.

The shower is over the tub, a plain white shower curtain pulled to. He stands beside her and watches her as she shows him which buttons to press and which buttons to turn to alter water temperature. She then looks at him and smiles and sees the mild frown between his eyes and her smile begins to fade.

“You don’t have to do this right now if you don’t want to,” she tells him and he seems to snap to.

“It’s fine.” His voice is low and filled with tension.

She sends him a worried look as she takes the washbag from him and opens it up.

“The shower gel, shampoo and soap are all unscented, it helps prevent scent triggers. People can react to all different kinds of things, different stimuli; tastes, scents, sensations so I try to cover all bases and keep stuff like this as simple as possible. There’s also a razor and shaving gel in there too if you want to shave, as well as a new toothbrush and some paste.” She places the bag back on the towels he still carries and looks back into his blue eyes.

“There’s plenty of hot water too, so take your time, don’t worry about using it all up. Any questions?”

Bucky just shakes his head, watching her as she leaves him alone. Feels a little overwhelmed and he isn’t sure whether it’s the thought of taking a shower or by Alex herself. She’s a force of nature.

* * *

 

She can hear the hiss of the shower while she strips down his bed, replacing the soiled sheets with fresh ones, working quickly and methodically and she’s done by the time the shower shuts off.

The sheets are bundled up in her arms and she’s on her way out when he emerges from the bathroom, followed by clouds of steam. He’s clad in just a towel around his waist, his clothes in his arms and another towel across his shoulders. Droplets of water cling to his skin and his hair is towel dried and tangled and pulled back from his face. She notices that he hasn’t shaved. Her eyes widen marginally as he comes past her to go into his bedroom and she’s reminded just how tall he is and how wide his shoulders are. He’s powerfully built; she believes the correct term is muscles on top of muscles. She swallows against a suddenly dry throat before she pauses in the doorway and looks at him.

“I’ve left some clean clothes for you on your bed. I have to go downstairs in a little while, someone that I’ve helped in the past is calling by on an errand and I need to see her. I was wondering…whether you’d like to come with me.”

She waits. Watches as he slowly turns and looks at her.

“I mean you don’t have to and I’m only going downstairs so if you want to stay here then that’s fine, you probably want to rest up some more anyway.” She turns to leave, wondering what on earth possessed her to ask him that.

“I’ll come with you.”

His answer stops her in her tracks and she turns back around to look at him.

“Really?”

He shrugs wide shoulders. “Sure. When are you plannin’ on headin’ down?”

“Half an hour or so. Her name is Mary, the person I’m meeting.”

Bucky slowly nods as he absorbs this information. “Okay, I’ll be ready,” he promises.

She smiles at him once more and disappears.

* * *

 

She watches him emerge from his room. He’s clad in clean jeans and a long sleeved light blue Henley shirt she pulled out of the wardrobe while he was taking his shower. She dropped a grey t-shirt on top of it and hoped they fit. She’s glad to see that they do. His glove is back on his left hand. His hair has been finger combed into submission. He’s also wearing the lace up boots she dug up for him.

“They fit okay?” she asks and he looks down at them and just nods.

“That’s good. Your other boots don’t have a size on them so I had to guess. Are you ready?”

Another nod.

He watches her unlock the door and open it and he ignores the subtle pounding he can feel in his chest. He’s nervous, doesn’t know what to expect downstairs, what kind of an impression he’ll make if any. It’s on the tip of his tongue to change his mind, to stay in his room and hide for a little longer, gather his wits and plan what he’s going to do next. He knows that he can’t stay here for much longer, he’ll need to move on and soon. Sooner or later someone’s going to take a closer look at him, at his left arm and realise he’s different to pretty much every other guy around. Alex says they operate under the radar and he doesn’t want to bring any unwanted attention on her and what she does. He follows her out of her apartment, sticking close.

His heartbeat grows louder in his ears as he follows her down to the bar and the back of his neck prickles. His eyes scope out his surroundings. Quiet. No one around. Doesn’t realise he’s clenching his fists until he feels himself begin to relax.

They pause at the bottom of the staircase and she turns and looks at him.

“Are you okay?”

Not really but he nods anyway.

She continues to look at him. “The moment you feel like you need to leave, tell me,” she instructs and he nods a second time before his eyes scan his surroundings one more time; entrances, exits, quick getaway strategies, all being assessed and being put into place.

“This way,” she continues and they turn right.

* * *

 

He sees the large dark wood oval shaped bar in the centre of a spacious room. Right now it’s empty, tables clear, chairs neatly pushed in. There’s a guy behind the bar, tall, blond and he’s wiping at the surface with a cloth, another one tossed over one broad shoulder. He lifts his head when he hears footsteps and briefly smiles at Alex. Bucky falters slightly as they approach the bar. Another face glitches in and out for a heart stopping second but disappears before he can fully recognise it.

“Hey,” Alex greets, resting her elbows on the shiny surface. He glances at her and offers another slower smile.

“Hey yourself.” He sends a look Bucky’s way. “Good to see you looking more…”

“Well?” Alex interrupts and he looks back at her.

“Yeah.”

Bucky looks at him and notices the dark bruises that ring his throat, recognises the thumbprint sized one below his left ear and feels a twinge of guilt. Vaguely remembers someone being in the apartment yesterday. He glances at Alex, shifting slightly on his feet, fighting against the overpowering need to disappear.

“Bucky, this is Callum. Callum, Bucky,” Alex introduces and she watches as both men stare at each other. Then Callum pulls the dishtowel off his shoulder and wipes his hands briefly before holding one out to him.

“Good to meet you Bucky,” he tells him, his voice low but level.

After a second’s hesitation, Bucky reaches across and takes it, gives it a brief shake.

“You too… listen… about… yesterday…”

Callum waves him away. “It’s fine, Alex explained it to me, flu does strange things to a guy. You look a lot better. This?” He indicates his throat, “This will heal.”

Bucky just regards him, completely taken aback by Callum’s easy forgiveness. It’s nowhere near to being fine by him but he’ll accept it.

“Any sign of Mary yet?” Alex asks Callum.

“She’s on her way, said she’ll be here shortly,” he answers, watching as she slides onto one of the stools. He reaches beneath the bar and lifts out two white mugs and places them on the bar in front of them. Bucky sits down beside Alex and watches as he picks up a coffee pot from behind him and fills them, pushing both their way.

“A word of advice though, she sounded a little twitchy when I spoke to her last night when she called to let me know she was coming by this morning.”

Alex picks up her cup and takes a mouthful of coffee. “You think Frankie is on the scene again?”

“God I hope not, it took her months to find the courage to finally leave his useless ass. I asked her but she didn’t give me a straight answer,” Callum replies.

Alex sighs roughly, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup.

 “How did he find her?”

Callum shrugs. “I don’t know. If he is sniffing around, I know he can lay on the charm if and when it suits him. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done this.”

Alex frowns. “I hope to God you’re wrong Cal. He threatened to kill her the last time.”

* * *

 

The door to the bar opens and it doesn’t escape Alex’s notice how Bucky flinches at the noise. She turns her head and sees two people come through. Mary and Connor. They’re both carrying large bags. Bucky watches as Alex slides off her stool and approaches them both. He picks up his coffee cup and takes a contemplative sip, feeling the bitter brew scorch his tongue. He doesn’t take his eyes off her.

Mary is tiny in height, barely five feet tall with short choppy brown hair and wide hazel green eyes that Alex knows sparkle when she’s happy. Today though, they’re dull, void of any kind of emotion and she feels a sinking sensation in her gut. Callum might be right about his hunch that Frankie is sniffing around again. Connor takes the bag off her as Alex goes to hug her, feeling her arms slowly slide around her, holding her close for a second before letting go and taking a step back.

“How are you Mary?” she enquires gently. The smaller woman’s responding smile is quick but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m okay Alex. What about you? Callum said you were busy with someone new.” She sneaks a peek around her and sees the guy sitting at the bar opposite Callum, sipping from a white coffee cup. He looks to the outside world to be calm and at ease with the world but Mary recognises the tension behind his eyes, the set of his shoulders, how he takes in his surroundings. Their eyes briefly meet and hold before she looks away, returning her attention to Alex.

“I’m fine, that’s Bucky at the bar with Callum.” She doesn’t offer to introduce them, Mary is still pretty skittish around new people, there are very few souls that she trusts.

“I managed to complete everything that you asked me to. Do you have anything else?”

“Not right now but that’s just because I haven’t been out looking for the past few days. You’re so good at what you do Mary, Gabe would sell his soul for your sewing skills.” She slides an arm across Mary’s shoulder and leads her to the bar. Connor is behind, carrying both bags which he places on a couple of stools at the bar.

“Hey Mary, would you like some coffee?” Callum enquires with a gentle smile. Mary casts a nervous smile Bucky’s way before she nods and takes a seat, careful to maintain a safe distance from him.

“Mary, this is Bucky, he’s my newest someone,” Alex introduces. Mary looks across and sends another quick, nervous smile Bucky’s way. He doesn’t smile back, just nods but his eyes hold hers for a minute longer. Alex takes the stool between them, in effect creating a barrier between them and she looks his way for a moment.

“Mary is a seamstress of inestimable quality. I go to Goodwill stores and thrift shops around and about and pick up clothing for next to nothing and then I call Mary, we talk about what needs to be done to improve them and she takes them away and she does it. She’s really talented, makes her own clothes and those for her kids, she’s the absolute best.” Alex looks at her and flashes her a smile, seeing how she flushes pink, a shy smile crossing her face.

“Which reminds me…” Alex reaches into the front pocket of her jeans and pulls out a thin wedge of cash. She pushes it across the bar Mary’s way and sees how her eyes widen.

“Oh…I can’t…” she stammers.

Alex nods. “Yes you can. Your work is always outstanding. Take it, you’ve earned it.”

“But you haven’t even checked it, it might not be what you wanted,” Mary responds. Alex regards her for a moment and she recognises the fear rising in her friend’s hazel green eyes. All but feels the anxiety vibrating off her skin.

“I know it will be and why is that? Because I trust you and because I know you do good work. Take the money, you’ve earned it.” Alex pushes the bills closer to her and watches how she slowly picks it up, sees the denomination of them and if at all possible, her eyes go even wider. She drops it, shaking her head.

“There’s far too much here, I can accept this,” she whispers. Alex doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead she fixes her with a steady look.

“Then why don’t we take the clothes out to the communal kitchen and we can go through each item?” she suggests. After a moment, Mary nods and slides off her stood. Alex follows, picking up the cash on her way. She first of all looks at Callum and her expression is serious and then she turns her attention to Connor who still has both bags in his possession. She just nods and he follows them both inside. Bucky turns in his seat and watches them leave before he looks back at Callum, who picks up the coffee pot and refills Bucky’s mug.

“They might be a little while,” he tells him. Bucky looks down at the mug and frowns when he feels that tight knot that’s been resting in his chest squeeze fractionally.

“Why?” His voice scrapes against his throat as he looks up and into Callum’s brown eyes and sees the brief look of confusion.

“Why what?”

“Alex. What she does. Why?”

Callum lifts his own coffee cup and takes a mouthful, the silence stretching between them. Bucky taps the fingers of his right hand against the side of his own mug and waits.

“It’s just what she does. Everyone here, me, Connor, Mary? She’s helped us all in some capacity.”

“She doesn’t know…me…but…”

“She has her reasons man but it’s not my story to tell. Maybe you should ask her.”

Bucky picks up his coffee mug and his frown still doesn’t completely dissipate.

“Maybe I will,” he murmurs.


	8. Chapter Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different but strangely familiar side to Bucky emerges.

**Chapter Eight:**

_I’m the tree that falls and makes no sound…_

Alex watches as Connor places both bags on the large kitchen table. She then looks back at Mary who stands nearby, her fingers knotted tight and twisting together over and over. She notices how she bites her bottom lip, a tiny frown marring her brow.

“Hey,” she murmurs and sees her eyes flick up to her face. Alex takes a step closer to her.

“I have faith in you, you know that, right?” She keeps her voice low, soothing. Mary nods hastily but Alex gets the distinct impression that it’s only for show and she very quietly sighs. She glances at Connor as she moves closer to the table and slowly extracts the contents of both bags one by one. They’re all neatly folded, freshly laundered as well as repaired or altered or whatever they’ve decided to do with them. She’s aware of Mary behind her, rooted to the spot, her fingers busy with their constant winding and twisting. It’s something she used to do in her earliest days here with her kids, her face still swollen purple and blue with bruises, the white of one eye tomato red courtesy of a burst blood vessel because of a fist ploughed into it. She’s all but vibrating with tension. Another glance as Connor comes to stand beside her tells her that he’s getting the exact same vibe as she is. She then looks back at Mary over one shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s take a look. You know this is a waste of time don’t you because your work is always exceptional.” She waits until Mary comes to stand beside her and she unfolds the first item of clothing, a pair of jeans that have been hemmed and taken in.

“Look at the quality of that stitching Mary,” Alex begins as she examines the legs of the jeans, turning the hem inside out. “If you were a surgeon, you’d be one of the best, Gabe can only dream of having sewing skills this good, me too.” She glances at her with a soft smile as she refolds them and puts them to one side.

For a few moments, they don’t speak as Alex carefully examines each item of clothing.

“Is Frankie back on the scene, Mary?” she enquires, keeping her tone light, neutral and most definitely non-accusatory. Gets her answer by the quiet but sharp intake of breath and how Mary looks at her out of the corner of her eyes.

“No,” she retorts defensively but Alex already knows, has heard it before.

“You know, it’s okay to tell us, we’re not gonna judge you. How did he find you?”

“He’s not on the scene Alex.”

“You’re on edge honey, you only get like this when you’re stressed, like when you first came here with the kids at the beginning. We’re not blaming you or accusing you of anything, I would just like to know how he found you.”

Silence drops again and for a long moment as she examines the other items of clothing, Alex thinks she isn’t going to answer.

“He appeared outside of my place of work a few days ago and said he wanted to see the kids, said it was his right as their father to see them.” Mary’s voice is mouse quiet.

Alex turns her head slightly to look at her again, sees the wide eyed nerves, colour bleached out of already pale skin and the bitten raw bottom lip.

“He’s subject to a court order preventing contact with you and the kids and it’s there for a reason. He has no rights,” she softly reminds her.

“Not according to him, he says he knows better than any lawyer.” Mary’s voice turns bitter. Alex exchanges another look with Connor and it takes her all she has not to roll her eyes.

“Remind me Mary, when did he graduate from law school? The law knows better and he should be arrested. Does he know where you live?” She watches as Mary slowly turns her head and she looks at her with wide, suddenly horrified eyes.

“I don’t know. I hope not,” she whispers. Alex takes a slow deep breath and then makes herself smile at her. Chances are he does and he’s just biding his time, that he’ll show up at her place unannounced when she’s at her most vulnerable. She pushes down the anger that she feels.

“The kids are in school, right? How about I get in touch with Angie and Benny and they’ll meet you here and you can go and collect them when school is done, at least if Frankie does show up, Benny is big enough to take him on if necessary and you can go to their place and be safe until we figure out our next step.”

Angie and Benny are part of the network of people she’s a member of. Benny is ex NYPD and built like a barn. Angie runs a similar safe house like hers across the city and they’ve been a couple for the past fifteen years. She and Alex look out for each other, talk regularly and help each other out when necessary. They’re all tight knit, sharing the same strict code of silence.

She sees the quandary cross Mary’s face.

“Listen, we knew that there was a possibility of this happening, that he’d show up again out of the blue. You know his routine, his methods. He’ll try to win you around again, use his charm, make you promises that he’ll change, that he’ll never lay another hand on you again and maybe that’ll be true for a little while. He’ll buy you gifts, try to woo the kids on side. He’s done it before don’t forget that. He won’t keep any of those promises, not a single one and he’ll start using his fists on you again and maybe the kids too,” Alex reminds her, sees how she takes a deep breath, her eyes bright with fear. “But the difference is this time you have us on side; me, Connor, Callum, Angie and Benny. We won’t let him get within five feet of you or the kids.”

“He’s sneaky though Alex, you know how cunning he can be.”

“And so can we…” Anything else she’s about to say dies when she hears voices. She listens and then hears the belligerence of one of them and her heart sinks. She looks at Mary who stares back with wide, terrified eyes.

“Crap,” she whispers.

Frankie’s found them.

* * *

 

Coffee plays havoc with the bladder Bucky realises as he leaves the men’s room but at least he now remembers that he likes coffee. It would seem he’s agreeable to coffee, tea as well as orange juice. Perhaps he’ll be agreeable to the idea of beer in the near future too.

As he approaches his seat at the bar, the front door opens. Bright sunlight floods through, embracing everything that it touches almost joyfully. He pauses, feeling the brief jolt of apprehension that fires through him. He squints at the silhouette that frames the doorway, every sense on alert, feet ready to move. He can feel the tension float on the air before it settles and fades. He takes a slow breath before he tells himself that it’s okay to sit down but he watches, just the same.

“Damn it,” Bucky hears Callum curse a sparse second later and he glances across at him and then to their visitor, their silhouette and feels the energy levels in the room begin to buzz. As he comes into focus he can see that he’s a tall guy, black haired, well-muscled with thick arms and thighs and broad shoulders. Bucky goes very still, nerve endings tingling. He watches as the man’s dark eyes scope out his surroundings and there’s a set to his jaw that he’s not finding agreeable. _Trouble_.

He glances back at Callum.

“Frankie?” he enquires in a quiet voice and the look Callum sends him is just as fleeting.

“Yeah. Whatever you do, don’t let him in the kitchen, okay?”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees and he returns his attention to Frankie who stops beside the bar and looks at Callum, weighing him up.

“Where is she?” he demands.

No formality, no niceties, nothing. Bucky realises that this dance has been performed before.

“Mary? No idea,” Callum replies with a nonchalant shrug.

“Don’t lie to me, I saw her come in with that kid in the glasses.”

Callum shakes his head. “She’s not here man and you’d better leave.” He goes to turn away but Frankie lunges across the bar and grabs his upper arm, holding on tight and Callum winces as he turns back to glare at him. Neither of them see Bucky move; he slides off his seat and reaches across and grabs onto Frankie’s wrist with his left hand.

“You’ve been asked to leave, so why don’t you let go of him and do as you’re told?” His voice is mild, almost polite.

He watches Frankie slowly turn his head and look at him in brief astonishment but doesn’t release his grip so Bucky tightens his. He sees how he looks down when he hears the quiet rev of the cybernetics in his metal prosthesis.

“What the…hell?”

“You heard him and you heard me.” Bucky’s voice is still quiet, his gaze ice blue and steady on the other man’s face.

 “And what if I don’t want to?”

“You really don’t want to know the answer to that one.” He keeps his voice level in the almost empty room and just to put his point across, he tightens his grip on his wrist a little more and sees how Frankie’s eyes widen in pain. A little more added pressure will succeed in breaking bones.  

“It’s none of your business pal so why don’t you back off!” Frankie hisses and Bucky watches the pain flare in his eyes causing tears to rise and he stares at them in fascination. He’s tempted to add a little extra pressure anyway just to hear those bones begin to snap. Instead he tilts his head to one side as he gazes at him.

 “You gonna make me?”

_‘Pick on someone your own size.’ It flashes like lightning through his brain. An alleyway, the skinny kid again lying face down beside a small collection of trash cans._

He blinks and it’s gone.

Instead he sees how Frankie assesses him. Notes how he’s beginning to gauge his chances, that maybe even with his added muscle he can’t intimidate this one.

_But he wants him to try anyway. Really wants to hear those bones crack_

_Then again he’ll make do with hearing the strain in his voice instead._

“This has nothing to do with you so why don’t you just walk away and nobody will get hurt.” Frankie does his best not to gasp out loud.

Bucky widens his eyes almost theatrically.

“Meaning me, right? You’re gonna hurt me? You’re confident that’s gonna happen? I’m the one holding your wrist, I’m the one who could break it like a popsicle stick.”  Tightens his hold just a touch more, almost grins at Frankie’s more obvious wince of pain. Sees more tears fill his eyes.

_He’s a big guy, soldier or cop perhaps so shouldn’t he be able to withstand this kinda pain?_

_Apparently not._

“You a cop or a soldier or somethin’?” Frankie wheezes out. Bucky wonders for a second whether he’s able to read his thoughts as he hears a thread of something ripple through his voice. Trepidation maybe?

_No… fear. That’s it._

He gives a deliberately slow shrug.

“Or somethin’,” he answers in a low voice and doesn’t elaborate.

“You’re Mary’s new boyfriend? She said she was seein’ someone. She get herself a tough guy now?”

Bucky stares at him in confusion.

“You’re assuming that she’s here and even if she was, she’s probably had her fill of tough guys real or imagined,” he retorts with a roll of his eyes. “Now let go of Callum like I requested you to. Don’t make me ask you again.”

He waits and finally Frankie releases his grip on Callum’s arm. Bucky glances at him out of the corner of his eye and gives him a quick nod and Callum takes a couple of steps back. Frankie tries to yank his wrist free of Bucky’s grip but he holds on tightly. Watches him somewhat steadily.

“Now you’re gonna turn around and get your ass out of here. Don’t come back.” With deliberate slowness he uncurls his fingers from the other man’s wrist, seeing the relief in his eyes, how he rubs at it. Frankie looks back at Bucky, the relief quickly being swapped over for spite.

“You won’t be here all the time,” he spits at him, feeling brave all of a sudden that his wrist is no longer being held in a bone-crushing grip.

Bucky shrugs slowly again.

“You don’t know that,” he answers calmly and waits, watches the big man finally turn, not before seeing the look of pure frustration on his face before he departs, slamming the door shut behind him.

Despite himself, Bucky flinches at the loud slam that echoes around the room.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Callum quips and Bucky blinks and looks at him in mild confusion. “You okay? You looked out of it intense there for a moment or two.”

Bucky sighs shakily and turns his head and straightens up when he sees Alex standing just inside the kitchen doorway, Connor a short distance behind her and between them, peeking out to one side is Mary. She’s deathly pale, trembling even from this distance.

“It’s okay, he’s gone,” Callum tells them. Bucky remains still, watching the trio slowly approach them. Alex’s eyes are on the wide side as she stares at him and he looks away, ducks his head down and pretends great fascination for his boots.

“Bucky?” Her voice is soft and he feels her hand on his back and his eyes flash back to her face, holding for a minute before dropping down again.

“Are you okay?” she murmurs and his answering nod is hasty. He moves away, back to his stool and slides onto it.

A few minutes later and a beer bottle appears into his line of vision and he slowly raises his head and looks into Callum’s dark brown eyes.

“I think you’ve earned this, it’s on the house,” he tells him. Bucky holds his gaze for a second or two before turning his attention to the red and white label pasted to the side of the glass.

“Thanks,” he whispers huskily.

He takes a deep shaky breath and curls his fingers around the ice cold bottle, lifts it to his lips and takes an experimental sip.

* * *

 

Alex is working at the bar; serving drinks, taking food orders and delivering them always with a smile. Bucky is nearby, out of immediate sight in the cavernous room but close enough that he can see who comes in and out of the main entrance and also so he can keep Alex in view. He feels things settle easier in his head when he can see her. The room fills up and empties with regularity. The single beer went down smoothly and since then he’s stuck to coffee and water. He spends the time watching Alex work and taking in the lie of the land. Waits for the tension that holds him taut to lessen and ease but it doesn’t, not really. Past experience keeps him vigilant, ready to move when necessary.

He eats lunch with her in the kitchen; she makes him a sandwich and they share soup. He sees someone come in out of the corner of his eye and he goes still but doesn’t attempt to bolt this time but he still feels the shiver of apprehension slither down his spine nonetheless.

“Mary,” he hears Alex greet and he hears the warmth in her voice.

Allows himself to marginally relax.

“I…would it be okay… if I speak to…Bucky?”

He lifts his head when he hears her voice, the hesitancy in it and he lowers the spoon he holds in his hand.

“Sure,” he answers and he waits. Watches how she looks briefly at Alex before she takes the seat beside her, notes it’s still a safe distance away from him.

 _Good. You should be nervous._ It bounces around inside of his skull and he blinks.

Mary fixes her gaze on his face for a long moment, as if committing him to memory. He fights against the urge to duck his head and avoid her gaze.

“I wanted to say…thank you for what you did…this morning.”

It’s his turn to stare at her, then he swallows, doesn’t speak for a moment.

“It’s fine,” he eventually replies.

Mary slowly shakes her head.

“Nobody’s ever got in Frankie’s face like you did. You weren’t scared of him at all, I could see that about you. Nothing scares you.”

 _Oh you’d be surprised_.

He keeps his expression blank.

“He’s a bully and I don’t like bullies,” he tells her.

_Why does that sound familiar to him?_

He refrains from shaking the thought out of his head and instead takes a breath.

“Will you be okay?” he asks instead. Mary glances quickly Alex’s way and her smile is equally swift.

“I will be,” she tells him.

He doesn’t respond to that, just gives a small nod and looks down. He looks back up when he hears her get to her feet, take a breath and he finds himself watching her once more. Sees how she frowns and it looks to him as if she’s building herself up to say something more to him.

“Your eyes give you away you know,” she begins and Bucky feels something similar to surprise frisson through him. He remains still, doesn’t look away though it’s what he wants to do and he waits. Slowly Mary smiles, glances briefly at Alex again before returning her attention to him.

“It’s said that the eyes are the window to the soul and right now your soul is broken. You’re a good guy Bucky, I hope one day your soul will be healed enough so that you’ll remember that and let yourself be.”

For a moment, he doesn’t speak and then quietly he clears his throat.

 _Not a good guy. He’s not a good guy at all_. _Never will be again._

“With… respect, you don’t know me at all,” he tells her, his voice low. This time he does look away.

“You’re right, I don’t but I do know a broken soul when I see one.”

* * *

 

He’s got a feeling about Frankie, it niggles at the back of his mind. He remembers guys like him from way back whenever it was. They were bullies and bullies don’t like dealing with someone who isn’t afraid of them, especially someone with a cybernetic metal arm, a wickedly strong grip, a glitch memory and absolutely nothing to lose. They don’t like to be made to feel as small as their victims and therefore they feel that they have a score to settle. Mary isn’t here anymore, a couple of people stopped by to pick her up, a mountain sized man by the name of Benny who he knew was an ex-cop even before Alex told him and his partner, Angie. What she said to him about his broken soul clings to him. Right now his soul feels shattered, beyond repair.

Trouble will find him, he has no doubt of that and he really needs to get out of here, to leave this complication behind. Hasn’t forgotten about New York, Brooklyn to be precise.

“Come on, you’re done for today.”

Bucky looks up when he hears Alex’s voice. She’s standing in front of him, hands on hips with a look on her face that tells him challenging her opinion isn’t a good idea. The place is quiet, emptying out, a jukebox plays something he doesn’t recognise which isn’t a stretch.

“I’m fine,” he answers anyway. Watches as she slides onto the high stool beside him and fixes him with a knowing look. It feels as though she can see right inside of him and it makes him shift a little in his seat.

“You’re done.  Callum is about to start closing up shortly and you and I are going back upstairs. You’re wound tighter than a pocket watch right now and I don’t want something to trigger you into causing chaos down here. Unlike me and Callum, Connor and Mary, other people may talk and something tells me you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than what’s necessary.”

He stares at her, surprised by her perception and watches as she leans closer to him.

“Being around fellow human beings can be awesome most of the time but there’s a time when being away from them can be equally as wonderful. It’s quiet upstairs, you need some peace and quiet.”

He just looks at her, still wondering how she knows and sees her soft smile in response.

“Mary can be very observant at times. You _do_ get a look in your eyes, I’ve seen it before with others like you.”

“Like me?”

“Beaten down. Just because right at this minute you’re not the wreck of the man I found beside the dumpster the other day doesn’t mean that you’re all of a sudden fine. It’s a process, a time consuming one at that. Come on, we can go upstairs, I’ll make us some dinner and you can rest up. Tomorrow we’ll talk about what needs to happen next.” She slides off the stool and turns.

And she freezes.

* * *

 

Bucky sees him at the same time and gives a quiet sigh.

“Damn it,” he mutters, echoing Callum from earlier as he recognises their visitor for the second time today.

“They’re gone.” Frankie’s voice is a mixture of anger and injury.

“Frankie, I thought you were told that you aren’t welcome here?” Alex’s voice is level but Bucky hears a slight tremble in the tone, picks up on nerves. Slowly, carefully he slides off the stool and goes to stand by her left shoulder and watches him.

“I went by her apartment, was gonna talk to her there, away from all of you, so you wouldn’t be able to drip your poison into her ears but she’s not there.” His face twists, hatred blazing in his eyes.

Alex faces him head on but doesn’t answer. Her hunch about him knowing where Mary and the kids were living has been on the money. Instead she watches him; he’s tense, agitated and in turn that makes her a little nervous. She watches how his eyes fix briefly on Bucky. How his jaw tenses.

“You know where they’ve gone, you better tell me or…”

“Or what?” Alex snaps. “What will you do? You know that’s not gonna happen so threatening me won’t work. She’s safe from you, they’re _all_ safe from you, that’s all you need to know! So why don’t you just turn around and get out of here?”

Frankie glares at her. He takes a slow deliberate step towards her, temper flaring in his eyes and Bucky does the same, only halting when he feels her hand wrap around his wrist for a moment, holding him still.

“All of _this_ started because of you!” Frankie hisses at her and she makes a show of widening her eyes.

“Really? And how is that?”

“You took Mary away from me, filled her head with a whole lot of nonsense. She and those kids of mine belong with _me_!” His voice begins to rise and instinctively Bucky moves a half step closer to Alex.

She gives a loud, annoyed sigh.

“You know I did no such thing Frankie, you just want to believe that I did because then in your head it excuses what you did to her. Newsflash: it doesn’t. I just gave her the strength and support to get away from your violent ass. The rest she did all by herself and _that’s_ what you don’t like. You don’t like the fact that one, she’s doing it and two, she’s doing a great job of it and three, that she and the kids don’t really need you.”

Everyone hears the snarl in her voice in those last four words.

“I know that you’ve been sniffing around her again. How you found her I don’t know and to be honest I don’t care because that’s for the cops and the courts to decide because you broke the terms of the restraining order she has against you which means that you will go straight to jail if you don’t turn and walk out of here right now,” she continues.

Bucky senses the subtle change in the atmosphere, carefully begins to reach for Alex’s hand. Feels his hackles begin to rise.

_Danger. Be careful._

“Bitch,” Frankie hisses and reaches behind him.

* * *

 

Bucky realises what he means to do almost immediately. His eyes go wide when he hears Alex’s startled gasp and he grabs her hand, pulls her up against him wrapping both arms around her body and he turns so that his left hand side is further forward as Frankie pulls a gun from behind him, aims and fires.

Once, twice, three times. The noise is deafening.

Bucky braces himself, keeps his head down, feeling each bullet strike his left arm which he lifts and moves across his face, the bullets ricocheting against the shoulder joint. He can hear Alex’s panicked breathing against his ear as he holds tightly onto her, his right arm wrapped around her upper body, feels her cling to him and then cringe against him, all but burrowing into him.

He can hear a ringing in his ears, sharp and pure and the outside world seems to fade. There’s a pause in the gunfire and Bucky lifts his head and looks at Frankie and sees how he stares back at him with wide disbelieving eyes, gun still aimed but he’s shaking very slightly.

_Danger. Threat. Disarm. Put down._

Bucky quickly pushes Alex behind him and then heads towards Frankie and as he approaches, Frankie squeezes the trigger once more and Bucky lifts his hand in front of his face, the bullet deflecting away as he gets closer to him. He barely acknowledges the shock registering on Frankie’s face as he reaches for the weapon, yanking it out of his hand, transferring it to his right hand. He swipes across his face with his left hand, his fist crashing against his cheekbone, the cybernetics whistling as he does. Blood explodes from Frankie’s nose as Bucky hits him hard and he staggers back. Using the butt of the gun, Bucky slams it into his temple and Frankie goes down in an untidy heap.

_Stop no matter what. Shape the century. A gift to mankind._

He stands over him, staring down at him, ice blue gaze fixed upon his face, unblinking, expression tense but strangely blank, gun aimed at the middle of his forehead, his finger on the trigger, ready to squeeze.

_Awaiting sanction._

“Enough!” Callum shouts from the bar but Bucky doesn’t react, his eyes still fixed on Frankie who is barely conscious and certainly not moving.

_Static fills his head. Awaiting final instruction. Awaiting sanction._

_Shape the century. One last time. One last time._

“Bucky.”

The voice is low, quiet, a gentle hand on his right arm, sliding down to cover his wrist.

“It’s okay Bucky, you can stand down. I’m okay now. I think he’s got the message.” It’s Alex’s voice and she sounds calm and just like that he’s back in the room, blinking down at Frankie and frowning, as if wondering what he’s doing on the ground. He looks at the gun that he’s holding and then turns his head and sees Alex beside him, still holding onto his wrist. Looks into her eyes, sees them wide with something…it looks like fear.

_Is she afraid of him? What did she see? More to the point, who?_

“Give me the gun. Everything is fine,” she murmurs and he loosens his grip and allows her to slide it from him. Sees her place it on the bar in front of Callum, who immediately scoops it away. He looks back down at Frankie, sees the blood that covers his face, his nose obviously broken and his right eye is already swelling shut and there’s a graze on the side of his head that’s also oozing. Another frown. Is he responsible for that too? He looks up again and sees Alex coming back towards him.

She’s bone white; her eyes the only colour in her face.

 _Scared. Scared of him_.

_He’s wanted to tell her that he isn’t a good man. She knows it now._

“Go upstairs. I’ll deal with all of this,” Callum’s voice intrudes and Bucky stares at him for a moment, trying to assimilate the information given to him and turns his head back when he feels Alex tug on his arm. He looks around the bar, it’s completely empty. Sees Connor watching him with a familiar expression.

 _They’re all scared of him_.

“Come on,” she tells him, her voice quiet, subdued.

* * *

 

She’s shaking as she unlocks the door to her apartment and all but stumbles inside. She’s aware of Bucky following her in, pausing by the open door for a moment to peer out and he listens for a moment before he then carefully closes the door and turns the lock. He turns around and sees her watching him.

“Are you okay?” he asks her and sees how her eyes widen very slightly.

“Am _I_ okay? I should be asking you the same question,” she answers. She sounds slightly out of breath, a little shocked. “It was like you went on auto pilot when you saw that gun…and you’re bullet-proof?”  She gives her head a little shake.

Bucky takes a step towards her and then halts when her hand comes up.

“Just my arm. I’m not,” he confesses, his voice low. “The rest…I just… reacted.”

 _It’s what I do_ , he wants to add but thinks she’ll ask more questions he’s not ready to answer.

_She’ll ask questions now._

“I wasn’t gonna hurt you…any of you.”

_Will she believe him?_

“I know,” she replies, her voice deliberately light but it doesn’t reassure him, he isn’t stupid.

“Gabe wondered whether you were ex-military, I guess that just proved it,” she sighs. He doesn’t reply and watches as she lifts her head and she looks at him.

“It makes sense though that you’d know what to do in circumstances like that. It’s just that I’m not a fan of guns…they make me…queasy,” she whispers, her eyes taking on a far away look and he isn’t really sure right then whether she’s talking to him anymore. He then slowly straightens his spine as she lifts up the hem of her shirt and reveals a scar that marks the skin to the left and just up from her belly button. Even with his glitch memory, he knows exactly what that is.

A bullet wound.

He watches as she drops the hem and then unfastens the top two buttons of her blouse, pulling the material to one side. Another similar scar puckers the skin near her collarbone on the same side. He lifts his eyes to her face as she rebuttons up the shirt.

“Work related injuries,” she whispers and her smile is wan, barely there.

“It’s why I don’t practice medicine anymore.”


	9. Chapter Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more about Alex this time.

**Chapter Nine:**

_Rust is growing on my armour, I am wheezing like an old man done._

She watches him, how he grapples with what she’s just shared with him.

“You were shot at work? Here?”

She slowly shakes her head. “No. At the hospital where I worked, where Gabe still works,” she tells him, her voice faint.

Her eyes seem to glaze over and then she shakes her head again.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” she mutters and moves past him.

He watches as she heads into the kitchen. He stands motionless for a moment, still absorbing everything before he follows her.

She stands by the sink and stares into nothing, her mind full of what happened downstairs. What she witnessed.

Bucky had protected her; enfolded his arms around her, pulled her up against his body, wrapped himself around her and taken three bullets for her. She can still hear them striking his arm, the sound they made as they rebounded off the metal. _Rebounded_. Then he pushed her behind him and went on the offensive, disarming Frankie before she could even blink. She remembered the easy way in which he handled the gun, as if it was an extension of his arm. She can still see how he stood over him, gun aimed, finger on the trigger but it was the expression on his face; intense, hair trigger intense that she remembers the clearest. The moment she spoke to him, physically touched him, he snapped out of it and looked at her with such empty eyes, as if he had no memory of any of it at all.

Of what he’d just done.

He hadn’t even hesitated, moving automatically, with absolutely no fear and Mary’s words earlier today come back to her.

‘ _Nothing scares you.’_

And she had been right.

* * *

 

“How long ago?” His voice is quiet but she still startles. It seems to be a habit of his, just showing up without making a sound. How many times since he got here has she turned around and just seen him standing there, watching her, as if waiting to be noticed?

“How long ago what?” she enquires as she turns to face him. He stands just inside the room and her eyes take in the holes puncturing the left sleeve of the long sleeved top that he wears. Not even Mary will be able to work miracles with that one.

“Since you were shot,” he replies patiently knowing full well that she’s being deliberately obtuse in her response to him.

“I don’t remember, four maybe five years ago.”

 

Four years and seven months ago to be precise.

_Cold outside tonight, the inclement weather bringing in car accidents, seasonal injuries; broken and sprained limbs caused by slipping on the ice and snow outside. She spends most of the shift suturing, splinting, resetting damaged and dislocated limbs. The department is busy, busier than usual but she takes it all in her stride as always. The busier the shift, the quicker it goes by, that’s the theory anyway. Tonight though she barely has time to think, never mind breathe._

_Then Jodie comes into the cubicle where she’s working and tells her that Louise is back in the ER, with her kids and that it’s bad._

_And she’ll only see Alex._

_Sees her sitting on the gurney, her face battered, her left eye all but swollen shut, purple and blue, her bottom lip split and bleeding, blood oozing from her nose. Alex can see that chunks of her black hair have been wrenched out and her t-shirt is torn, splatters of her blood staining the well washed cotton material. She’s shaking, trembling with fear, an arm wrapped around each child, a boy and a girl, eight and ten years of age, huddled up against her; wide eyed and traumatised by what they’ve obviously witnessed and the frantic busyness of the ER isn’t helping._

“Her name was Louise. She was thirty years old and a frequent visitor to the ER,” Alex whispers. Bucky doesn’t answer. She flicks a glance up at him to see him still standing just inside of the kitchen, arms folded across his chest but he’s listening to her, still as a statue.

“I lost count of how many times I’d treated her over the preceding months. Seems like she was in every other week almost like clockwork, every time a bruise healed, another one would replace it. It got to the point that if I was on shift, she just wanted to see me. Her husband was always around, always with her like a bad smell. I tried to help her but she wouldn’t leave him, wouldn’t press charges, made excuses, said she was too clumsy, not looking where she was going and even when she _did_ acknowledge that the violence was happening, she’d blame herself, saying she did this wrong or wasn’t taking good enough care of him. He had her completely brainwashed into believing it was all her fault. We all could see what was going on but unless she pressed charges there wasn’t a damned thing we could do about it. She was too afraid, of him and what he was capable of. He was the sole breadwinner you see, had a good salary so she stayed at home with the kids. He kept her alone, isolated and completely dependent upon him.”

She pauses again, looks at him one more time. “I’d been trying to persuade her to leave him, to go with Angie and Benny and she was always too afraid to take that first step. I tried everything I could think of, we tried every tactic to get him away from her in the ER so she could talk but she never did and he knew and he hated me.”

Once more she halts, her eyes filled with distant memories and she takes another deep shaky breath.

“This time though she got away from him, I’m not sure what the final straw was but she grabbed those kids and she left and showed up at the ER. She was bruised and bloody but she was determined that this time she was gonna leave him. She was absolutely terrified but she told me she was ready.”

She sneaks another look at Bucky to see that he hasn’t moved, he’s listening to every word that she says. She wonders why she’s telling him all of this. Maybe because he asked and despite what she said earlier, she wants to talk about it. Needs to.

“I already knew Angie because she was a nurse there, a damned good one and tough as nails. She had a room at her apartment where someone who needed it could have a place of safety until they were ready to move on. All three of them were going to go there, Angie had called Benny to pick them up and he was on his way.” Her voice is still so quiet.

“And then _he_ appeared in the ER, Louise’s husband, William Reid.” Once more she stops. She frowns slightly as she stares off into space and then slowly shakes her head, swipes her tongue across her lower lip.

“Goddamn it,” she whispers.

He watches as she goes to the kitchen island in the centre of the room and lowers herself onto one of the stools. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the counter and clasps her hands together. Doesn’t look at him, locked in her memories.

“He…strode… through the department, looking for his family big and loud and as demanding as you like. Attracted a hell of a lot of attention. He found us. He was a big guy, or at least I thought so at the time, it could be my mind making him that way now but at the time he seemed enormous. I stood in front of Louise and I told him that she wasn’t going anywhere with him, that she was going somewhere safe. I thought that I was invincible, that he’d never try to do anything stupid in the middle of a busy ER, to Louise or to me, I would’ve pressed charges in a heartbeat. I even yelled for security and they were coming, I could see them.” Her lips twist in a cynical semblance of a smile and she slowly shakes her head once more.

For a while she doesn’t say anything else.

“He shot you.”

Her eyes tick up to his face. “Twice. First he shot Louise, once, in the head. Her blood splattered her kids, she was still… holding onto them. He called me a bitch and then he shot me, stood over me and told me that’s what I got for being… mouthy.”

Her lips twist again and Bucky sees the gleam of something deep in her eyes, a traitorous shine which she brutally blinks back, taking a deep breath at the same time.

“What happened to him?”

“That son of a bitch blew his own brains out in the middle of that room, in front of his already traumatised kids. Coward.”

_Doesn’t feel any pain, not initially. Just the explosion of gunfire. Her eyes are wide with shock, the force of the bullet striking her knocking her back against the gurney, the second one dropping her down onto the cold hard floor._

_Things begin to go quiet for her about then; she sees legs, feet moving towards her. Another noise and someone’s falling down beside her, wide unseeing eyes staring in her direction, a hole in the side of his head, hair blackened and bloody. Lifeless._

_Her breathing is loud in her ears, it’s all she can hear. It fills her head. She swears she hears someone yelling her name but it sounds strange, muffled, like it’s coming from underwater and she turns her head a fraction away from the eyes that still stare at her and sees someone drop onto their knees beside her, looking over her, familiar blue eyes wide, panicked. Gabe. He’s scared. Why’s he scared? She moves a hand across her abdomen and that’s when she feels pain begin to swell, it burns, oh God it burns. Her eyes widen with fear, panic. Her hand is shaking as she lifts it, brings it up and it’s bright red. She’s bleeding. Looks back at her brother, whimpers his name. Then she’s moving, going upwards, being lain on a gurney and she sees lights fly past her eyes as she’s whisked away. Something covers her face. Someone’s holding her hand, others her legs, her shoulder, her belly. Pressing down. Hurts. The edges of her vision begin to turn grey, the voices become indistinct. She can’t breathe...she can’t breathe._

_Next time she’s aware, she’s in a quiet white room, machinery bleeping the only sound she can hear. There’s a tube in her throat and she can feel a weight against one of her hands. She must’ve made a sound because the weight moves and she’s looking into eyes again. They’re momentarily wide but slowly they soften and warm with a smile. The face comes more into focus. It’s Gabe and he’s talking to her but she can’t really hear him. Feels him press a kiss on her forehead. There’s someone else in the room, she can smell perfume. It’s familiarity dances around the edges of her memory before fatigue claims her and her eyes slip shut again._

Alex blinks, takes a deep breath and wipes at her cheeks but there’s no tears there. Not any more, there’s none left. She looks back across at Bucky who still watches her with that strange blank expression on his face. She wishes she could read him more easily. She remembers Mary’s comment about his soul being broken and while she agrees with it, she wonders what happened to him. Ponders the idea she and Gabe entertained about Bucky coming down from a possible benzodiazepine dependency. They’re psychoactive drugs, working against anxiety, to help treat seizures, insomnia, agitation and in some cases act as a muscle relaxant. He doesn’t seem to remember which suggests they were given to him against his will or knowledge but for what purpose? She wonders at that.

It all comes back to control.

It’s a horrifying prospect if it’s the truth.  

Another ragged sigh escapes her lips.

“I spent a month in hospital. Lost a lot of blood, part of my left kidney and it was touch and go for the first twenty four hours according to Gabe but I don’t remember it, not really. I mean there are images in my head but I’m not sure whether they’re real or hallucinations from the medication and morphine I was on.” She gives her head a quick shake as if to rid herself of the memories. She smiles at him, brief, nowhere near her eyes.

“Gabe was working in the same department the day it happened. He’s a trauma surgeon, one of the best. He probably saved my life, in fact I know he did but I know it scared him too, almost losing me changed him. It’s why he’s so protective of me, why he reacted to you that first day.”

Bucky watches as she gets to her feet. Another smile ghosts across her face but he isn’t fooled by it for a single second.

“Now I promised you dinner. What are you in the mood for?” Clearly the topic of conversation is over for now.

* * *

 

Bucky opens his mouth to speak but anything he’s about to say is halted by the sound of a knock. His head whips around to the front door.

“Alex, it’s us, Callum and Connor,” a muffled voice informs them. Bucky allows himself to relax slightly as he recognises Callum’s voice.  He watches as Alex goes to the door and unlocks it, opens it a fraction and peeks out. Then she opens the door a little wider and allows them inside. Alex closes and locks the door behind them. Bucky doesn’t move, just watches them, sees how Callum draws her into his arms in a hug and as he draws back, he seems to examine every inch of Alex’s face. Beside him, Connor looks on, wide eyed still.

“Are you okay?” Callum keeps his voice low, concerned and she nods just the once.

“I didn’t know he was armed.”

“None of us did and it would’ve been a whole lot worse if not for Bucky and his quick thinking,” Alex replies and Bucky watches as Connor turns his face in his direction. There’s nothing but suspicion behind his eyes as he regards him.

“How did you know how to do that and why are you not hurt?” he asks. Bucky just stares at him and doesn’t answer.

“You know we don’t ask questions of the people we help unless they volunteer the information first Con. Place of safety,” Alex reminds him. Bucky watches how his eyes fall on the shirt, the holes in the material in the left sleeve and in the shoulder. He slowly removes the glove from his left hand and sees the growing disbelief on Connor’s face, eyes wide behind black framed glasses. He doesn’t say a word as he then peels off the Henley, revealing more of of the arm to him.

“Woah,” he whispers, “is that a prosthetic?”

“Kind of,” Bucky murmurs.

“And bulletproof too?”

Bucky shrugs in response.

“Okay, question time is done now Connor,” Alex interrupts in a voice a little too sharp, “Where’s Frankie now?” she asks Callum who slowly tears his own eyes away from Bucky’s metal arm and looks at her once more.

“I called Gabe, he was just finishing his shift. Be warned, he’s not happy. I had to explain the circumstances and that included mentioning the gun.” He watches as she rolls her eyes. “I had to.”

She sighs. “I know you did,” she reassures him.

Callum then returns his attention to Bucky.

“You broke Frankie’s nose and shattered his cheekbone,” he tells him and sees how he looks away not before seeing the regret in his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to…I… just…”

“You probably saved Alex’s life.”

Anything else Bucky is about to say, dries up in his mouth and he looks back at him.

“Gabe initially treated Frankie in the kitchen. He’s now conscious but in some pain so he’s taken him to the ER for further treatment. Gabe will make sure he’ll keep both your names out of it. Frankie won’t be pressing charges because then he’ll have to explain why he was in the bar and what he was doing in possession of a gun.”

“Was that his choice or someone else’s?” Alex enquires.

“A bit of both. He didn’t need much persuading, especially when I told him that the guy patching him up is your brother. I’ve also contacted Angie and Benny just to be on the safe side and to warn them but I don’t think he’ll be stupid enough to try again.”

“He won’t find them.” She’ll give Angie a call in the morning, once everything has settled in her head again.

“There’s also these…” They watch Callum delve into the front pocket of his jeans and extract a white napkin which he holds in the palm of his left hand and carefully opens. Four flattened bullets lie there and for a moment they stare at them in silence before Alex takes them, refolding the napkin.

“I can’t believe you found them all. What about the gun?” she asks, shoving them in the front pocket of her jeans.

“Gone.”

She just nods.

“Now we’ve just gotta hope that no one called the cops to report shots fired.”  

“I have to go back downstairs to finish closing up so if anyone does show up, I’ll do my best to get rid of them but if they were coming, they’d be here by now.” Callum sends another look Bucky’s way but doesn’t say anything and then he looks at Connor.

“C’mon, you can help me clean up.” He looks back Alex’s way. “You gonna be okay?”

She nods once more as she opens the door again and watches them leave. She then slowly closes it again, turns the lock and leans heavily against the wood, sighing softly. She then looks at Bucky who still stands in the entrance to the kitchen.

“Dinner,” she tells him in a low voice.

He watches her walk past him and back into the kitchen and then follows once more.

“I want to know why,” he begins.

“Why what?” she answers as she heads to the refrigerator but she doesn’t look at him.

He takes a deep breath.

“Why you help people, people like me?” he continues, watching her as she begins to pull ingredients out of the refrigerator and cupboards. She glances back at him over one shoulder. Slowly he approaches her, holding the door to the fridge open as she straightens up. She looks at him, frowning slightly.

“What’s with all of the questions all of a sudden?” she enquires as she heads to the nearest counter and places the food stuff on it. He hears the spiky tone and his first instinct is to back straight down and say no more but he’s curious, he wants to know. He waits a beat and she looks back at him. He tenses.

She rolls her eyes.

“Because it’s the right thing to do?” she answers. He just regards her and she sighs roughly.

“It’s one of the reasons. I tried to help people before it happened, in my job I saw all kinds of things going on and felt powerless to help. Afterwards…well let’s just say I had a hard time adjusting to the world again and I didn’t like how that made me feel.”

* * *

 

_At first she pretends that everything is just fine, accepts her colleagues’ good wishes, their welcome backs and pats on the back with smiles and shrugs, as if getting shot twice and surviving is no big deal. She’s looking forward to getting back into the swing of things, to feeling that rush of adrenaline again with each new case, the process of problem solving, being in the middle of a full scale emergency, saving lives, everything she signed up to medical school to become. To get lost in her job once more._

_But it doesn’t happen. Instead of adrenaline she feels uncertain, fear almost and her confidence deserts her at the most crucial times and her mind goes blank when it shouldn’t, when in the past it never has before._

_At first everyone is so understanding, so patient but she’s not stupid, she knows it won’t last for long. She has to be sharp, be on point, involved, helping, not this, this useless shell of a person._

_She can’t sleep and when she does, her dreams are filled with faceless shadowy men sneaking up on her with guns, shooting her, shooting her until she’s lying on that cold hard floor again, bright red blood oozing out of her and this time there’s no Gabe to save her. The nightmares drag her out of sleep, breath heaving in her lungs, scars pulling and aching, soaked in sweat, terrified beyond belief._

_She begins to sleep with a light on, a lamp on, a radio or the TV playing quietly in the background, anything to cover the silence._

_She tries to function as normal at work, to be professional, cool, hardworking and she thinks she’s succeeding until a tray drops somewhere in the department, the resulting crash echoing around the area like a thunderclap._

_Makes her panic, bolt, run. Want to hide._

_Angie’s the one to find her hiding in the on call room, pacing the small space, trying not to give into the sense of all pervading fear and panic that is looming. She’s the one who grasps both her hands and talks to her in a low non-threatening tone, reminds her to breathe, to breathe with her, slow deep breaths in to the count of five and to exhale just as slowly. Over and over until colour begins to return to her greyish white pallor, until the sweat dries on her brow. Until she remembers what her name is. Until her mind begins to settle again._

_She hopes it’s a one off thing, maybe it’s her brain reacting to being back at work, struggling to cope with stress but as sleep continues to elude her and her nerves stretch closer to breaking point she realises that it isn’t. One morning she can’t get out of bed, lies stretched out on the mattress listening to her alarm blare out and she does nothing. Is still lying there hours later when Gabe shows up wondering why she isn’t at work today. Realises that she’s been living in a fog of nightmares and insomnia, jumping at shadows real and imagined. Realises that she needs help._

_Angie shows up one day and no matter how hard Alex tries to get rid of her, she isn’t going anywhere._

“If it wasn’t for Angie, I wouldn’t be where I am today,” Alex tells him. “I’m her someone, like you’re mine.” She sees his look of momentary confusion. “It’s what I call the people I help, my someone. Right now, it’s you.”

He then remembers how she introduced him to Mary at the bar, as her ‘newest someone’

“How many have there been?”

“A few. I don’t keep count.”

She’s been doing this for three years now. She sold her apartment, bought this building and with Angie’s help, began to offer a place of safety to those who needed it.

She turns to look at him more fully.

“I’ll ask again, what’s with the questions all of a sudden?”

“Just curious I guess,” he replies. She regards him.

“Okay, I get that but you gotta know that curiosity works both ways. I could have questions for you, like what happened to you for you to end up in the alley behind the bar. For you to withdraw from a mystery drug, possibly a benzodiazepine in an impossibly quick time. To recover from a dislocated shoulder in the same amount of time as well as those bruises you came in with. They’re all gone, you’ve healed. How? How is that possible? Who _are_ you?”

She sees how his eyes widen briefly at her barrage of questions and his expression change, she literally sees shutters come down over his eyes as he withdraws, takes a physical step back, looks down as he wraps his arms around his body, an openly defensive mechanism if she’s ever seen one.

“My name is Bucky,” he tells her in a low voice and lifts his eyes to her face again, the expression wary.

She lifts a hand to her forehead and her shoulders slump. She slowly shakes her head.

“God, I’m sorry. I just told Connor that he couldn’t ask you about anything you weren’t willing to share voluntarily and I’ve just broken that rule myself. Damn it, just ignore me. It’s been one hell of a day.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, just continues to watch her and she lowers her hand, she still sees the caution in his eyes.

“I don’t like talking about what happened to me anymore than I suspect that you like talking about happened to you. It makes me grouchy. Help me with dinner and we can talk or not, whatever you want to do,” she invites. He still doesn’t respond and she gets the real impression that whatever level of trust she’s built with him, the foundations have begun to crack a little and inwardly she curses herself at her stupidity.

“How are you with pasta?” she asks instead.

* * *

 

He’s helping her to put away newly washed dishes when he hears the front door open. Alex glances at him as he freezes, going still and she notices how his eyes dart around the room. She reaches out and touches his wrist and his eyes flick to hers.

“It’ll be Gabe, he has a key,” she murmurs to him and almost as soon as the words leave her mouth then her brother appears in the kitchen. His eyes are wide, worried. He drops his bag on the floor at his feet and strides across to his sister and he pulls her into his arms and holds her tightly.

“I’m okay Gabe, really,” she tells him, her voice muffled by his jacket. He doesn’t reply, his eyes closed. “Gabe. Really need to breathe here. I’m fine, truly.”

“He drew a gun on you,” Gabe whispers as he draws her back, his hands still on her shoulders.

She looks up at him, smiles softly.

“This time I had Bucky with me, he disarmed him, put him down.”

Bucky watches as the Doc slowly looks at him.

“I’m assuming that you hit him with your metal arm. You did some damage, right orbital socket is shattered, nose is broken in two places, you really did a number on him.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, how does he explain the manner in which he took Frankie down when he barely remembers it himself. Like Alex said earlier, he went into auto pilot and it’s all still a little blurry.

“Thank you Bucky, what you did was…heroic.”

Bucky’s eyes go a little wide at Gabe’s words. He opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out.

Heroic? He’s the furthest thing away from heroic.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter and be warned, it's a huge one. I didn't want to split it. In this chapter, Bucky makes a fraught middle of the night confession. His nightmares are in italics. 
> 
> I've also taken one or two liberties in the name of fiction. The main one being whether Steve knew if Bucky was tortured by electro shock in the time frame of this fic. It may have been mentioned in the file Natasha gave to him but i've gone down the route that he didn't know or he wasn't quite sure.

**_I’m a product of my anger, I’m the bullet in a loaded gun…_ **

**Chapter Ten:**

_‘Grab my hand.’_

_Red white and blue. He can see red white and blue._

_He tries, reaches for him and sees his expression, the worry in his eyes. He clings to the side of the train carriage, feeling the freezing wind blast against his skin and he stretches, hand out, fingers grasping for contact._

_Almost there. Almost safe. Stretches as far as he dares._

_Something gives and his eyes widen with fright. Torn away. He’s falling._

_Hears him shout his name, quickly whipped away by the wind, sees him lunge at him, desperately, all care for safety forgotten but it’s too late, he’s dropping. He screams his name, eyes wide with fear. Sees him get smaller and smaller until there’s nothing there anymore, just white._

_Twists and turns and tumbles. Icy air buffeting his body. Screams fade into nothing, burned away by the cold. Crashes against a rocky outcrop, feels pain slice through him, clean and sharp._

_Hits the ground. No more._

_Clouded memories of moving slowly, seeing faces blur above him, speaking to him. Everything is sluggish, even their voices. He doesn’t understand them. Sees red. Realises he can’t feel his left arm. Fades out again._

* * *

 

She won’t be able to sleep tonight.

Even though she’s told Gabe that she’s fine, she isn’t, not really. The events of the bar are still stuck in her head, sharply focused, easily recalled and remembered. The look in Frankie’s eyes when she told him that his family didn’t need him whether true or not it pushed him over a very narrow precipice. The horror she felt when she saw that gun, coupled with the very real possibility of history repeating, the brief wondering of whether this time her luck would run out and the bullets would do their job and kill her. She curses herself for her stupidity and her lack of foresight, given what happened to her years before she should’ve been prepared for the possibility of a weapon being drawn, should’ve told Callum or Connor to call the cops the moment she saw him but she didn’t.

And then Bucky happened.

Gabe called him heroic and he’d looked distinctly uncomfortable at that pronouncement.

His discarded Henley rests neatly folded in her lap and right now she unfolds it and examines the left sleeve, sliding her fingers through the bullet holes punctured through the soft fabric. There are blood droplets sprayed across the front of the shirt from Frankie’s nose. She stares at it and wonders again what would have happened if Bucky hadn’t been there. Would he have shot her? What about Callum and Connor? The horror sits like a chilly memory in the pit of her stomach. She takes a quick shaky breath and puts the shirt to one side. He didn’t, that was the important thing to remember.

Because Bucky happened.

The apartment is quiet at this time of night. Earlier, Alex witnessed Bucky grow quieter as the evening progressed, picking at his food and then finally retreating into the safety of absolute silence. He then disappeared to his room and that’s where he’s remained.

His earlier initial interest in her took her by surprise, as had how he had listened to her. He didn’t interrupt, offer advice or judgement, he just listened, blue eyes passive until she turned on him all of a sudden irritated by it all and he retreated, the defensive walls popping back up. They remained there and she still berates herself for her lack of understanding. He was asking questions, thinking of someone other than himself, possessing the wherewithal to be curious and she all but bit his head off for it. Any bond or connection built between them has probably been weakened if not damaged.

She makes herself a cup of tea, keeps the kitchen light on so that Bucky’s room isn’t in complete darkness. She peeked in on him earlier to see him sleeping, his back to the room, his metal arm gleaming dully in the partial light. As she left his room she kept the door partially open so she is able to listen out for him if necessary.

She carries her cup back into her room and she settles back on the sofa with a book and hopes that the plot will keep her suitably occupied and away from thinking too much about last night. She doesn’t own a television, preferring the peace and quiet. Tonight perhaps, she would have appreciated the distraction.

* * *

 

_Name. Rank. Number. He’s been here before._

_Grey. Blurred. Fades in and out. His left arm hurts, a pain that’s sharp and constant to begin with and sharp enough to keep him semi-conscious but then over time depletes into a relentless nagging throb. Doesn’t have the energy to look. Exhausted._

_Name. Rank. Number._

_‘107 th, shipping out for England in the morning….’ _

_The look of disappointment in his best friend’s face._

_‘I’m sorry Stevie,’ he whispers._

_‘You haven’t called me that since we were kids, Buck.’_

_His eyes slide open when he hears that voice, clear in his head. Is he here, has he found him?_

_“Stevie?” he whispers again. Can hear the high pitched whine of something, reminds him of the dentist. Eyes grow wider when pain burrows through his left arm, opens his mouth to cry out, louder this time._

_A sharp voice hisses something, the tone irate. People in white coats scurry about like mice._

_Blackness rushes to greet him once more._

* * *

 

A low moan echoes around the apartment. It causes her to lift her eyes from the page of her book and listen.  Moments tick by, filled up by the silence of a late night. She looks back down, tries to absorb herself back into the storyline until a hoarse cry pulls her straight back out and her head snaps up, eyes wide with unease. He sounds distressed, like an injured animal and it sends a ripple of something down her spine. Another louder one follows, almost a scream, jagged as if literally torn from his throat and it makes her toss the book to one side and go running to his room.

_He can hear it, the sound it makes, the hum of the hydraulics, the hiss and crackle of energy. Braces himself. He won’t cry out this time. He knows what’s coming. Flinches anyway against the pressure he feels against his head. Powerless to stop the tears that flood his eyes as the air heaves in his lungs. He’s panting, trying to quell the panic that’s rising. Closes his eyes against it all. Sees flashes of white behind his eyelids, arcing and fluctuating. Bites down hard on the mouth guard pushed between his teeth. Screams in sync with the pain that bursts and pulsates through his skull. Never ending. It roars through his brain. He thinks he can hear frantic bleeping, the machines that monitor him going into some sort of panic mode. They’re watching him, those men in their little white coats and their bow ties, observing, taking notes and making adjustments for next time. Next time._

“No…No…” she hears him moan as she enters his room and in the partial light she sees him half upright, trying to get out of bed but the sheets are tangled around his legs. She can hear the metal arm whirr as he fights against something only he can see.

Alex whispers his name as she goes to him. She pulls the sheets free and catches onto him as he almost falls off the mattress. She steadies him, hearing his breath heave in his chest, a frightened gasp caught the back of his throat. His eyes are open but they’re opaque, lost in whatever nightmare that’s holding him prisoner.

“Can’t breathe…can’t…” His voice, thickened by sleep lowers to a mumble.

He’s breathless, air whistling in his lungs, trying to take a deep enough breath, his hands come up to cover his face and he claws at his skin as if trying to pull something free. His hair is tousled over his fingers.

Lost in panic.

_People are running for their lives. Scattering like leaves caught in the wind. He pays them no heed. He knows his mission. Her. She’s his and he’ll eliminate her. The firecracker red hair brushes against a memory, faint, not strong enough for him to question it but it’s there, like a muscle twitch._

_She’s hiding. She almost deceived him earlier but not now, now he has her in his sights. He stands on the roof of the abandoned car and he takes aim._

_Hears the running footsteps at the last minute, sees him out of the corner of his eye. Red white and blue. Throws a desperate punch and the clang of metal against metal reverberates through to his shoulder._

“Hey, hey…you’re safe Bucky, it’s Alex…you’re safe.” She lowers her voice as she crouches down in front of him. Her hands come up to cover his, tightening her hold on them very slightly. Slowly he lowers them and looks at her or at least he looks in her direction but again he’s not really seeing her. Bad dreams are tangled together in his mind, cobwebby and sticky. She lets go of his hands and touches his face, feeling heated sweat soaked skin, the scrape of stubble against her fingertips. Instantly he jerks back, shoving her hands away as if the contact burns but she stays still, waits a beat and carefully she touches his face once more and this time he doesn’t react, allows her the contact but she can feel the tremors that dance along the surface of his skin.

_Faces. So many faces that flicker through his mind like a slideshow. Names he no longer remembers, from missions given to him that he can’t readily recall. Instructions. Sanctions. Extractions. Executions._

_Snap. Snap. Snap. Never ending._

_Mission. Wipe. Mission. Wipe. Cryo when he’s no longer needed._

_Dark. Cold. Quiet._

_Until the next mission. Until the next target._

_Target sighted and acquired._

_He’s on the roof of an apartment building. The subject of his mission; Fury, Nicholas J. He failed the first time, confirmed death is still expected and he’s still within the time frame. He doesn’t stop until the mission is completed. He’s across the street now; saw him enter the building, unseen by all but him. He waits for him to show his face but he remains hidden. That’s not a problem for him. He’s patient. He can wait for however long it takes._

_Til the…_

_Then he hears the purr of the motorbike engine._

* * *

 

“…Gotta go…” he continues to mumble and goes to move again. She hears him wheeze, his eyes wide. Fearful. Blind. She places her hands on his shoulders, holds him still, feels the tension in the muscle and is surprised when he doesn’t push her away or shake her off.

“They’ll…find… me…” He can barely get the words out. Her hands leave his shoulders and she gently strokes his face, carefully brushing back the strands of dark hair that cling to his skin.

“Who will?” she murmurs. His eyes wheel around the room, as if searching for someone or something.

 “They...they’ll know I’m not… they’ll take me…’way…put that thing on me…again…” He makes eye contact now.  “I gotta….” He begins to move off the bed once more and it takes all of her strength to keep him still. He struggles this time, albeit weakly.

“M…mission…report…they’ll…wanna a mission report…but I failed…I failed…” he moans, his voice low and anguished.

_Grabs onto his shoulder harness and kicks for the shore. Hauls him onto drier land and lowers him down, watches his eyes roll beneath their lids, water dribble out of the corner of his mouth._

_‘You know me.’_

_‘No I don’t!’_

_But he does. Somehow._

“Ssshh Bucky, it’s okay, it’s okay. There’s nobody here. Tell me, what thing…” Keeps her voice low and soft.

He pauses, looks at her but still doesn’t seem to see her.

“Machine…they put a …machine on… my head…my face…it hurts…” His face twists, crumples almost as he obviously remembers how much.

 “Why?” she continues, keeping her voice as quiet and as soothing as possible. She sees tears swell in his eyes, leak out.

“To keep me… in check…make me obey… forget…” he confesses, his breathing becoming heavier, more laboured. Scared. She quietly hushes him and watches as he settles, expects him to wake up but he doesn’t, he’s locked in tight.

“Forget what?” Alex waits, heart beginning to pump, for his answer.

“All of it…me,” he answers simply and more tears fall. Alex’s eyes go wide with shock.

“Who Bucky? Who would do such a thing?” She can’t keep the horror out of her voice so doesn’t try to.

He’s trembling now, biting his lower lip as if debating whether to share this secret with her.

“Hy…Hydra.” His voice is a ragged whisper.

Alex stares at him, stunned almost beyond comprehension.

_Hydra?_

“What did the machine do that made you forget?” she asks him.

“…Shock…shocked…head.”

Alex blinks as she absorbs this. “Shock… you mean…electric shock?”

He just nods, a tiny almost imperceptible movement.

“Oh my God,” she whispers to herself. “Hydra did this to you? Why?”

She has a very good idea why but she needs to hear it from him.

“C…control. They kept me under…control….and they’ll find me… I need to go…they’ll take me away…again. Can’t….” He begins to move once more.

She reaches for him once more, hands cup his face, holding him still and her thumbs brush away the tears that stain his skin, rasp against the stubble covering his jaw, the lower part of his face. Her heart thuds in her chest, her throat all of a sudden thick and she feels tears of her own burn close.

“I promise you that you’re safe here Bucky, I promise you. No one will find you, I swear,” she whispers and she brushes his hair out of his eyes again. Feels how he still trembles beneath her grasp. Sees his eyes begin to clear. Awareness begin to dawn.

She lowers her hands to his shoulders once more and draws him up against her. He doesn’t fight her, it seems to have gone out of him as he rests his head against her shoulder. She gently hushes him as she would a child and strokes his hair, feeling the softness of it beneath her palm. A moment or two passes and he lifts his head up and he looks at her.

“Alex,” he whispers as if finally recognising her. Despite the heavy weight in her chest, she smiles softly at him.

“Hey Bucky.”

She watches how he takes in his surroundings for a moment or two before looking back at her.

“What happened? What did I do?” His voice is husky.

“Nothing bad so don’t worry. You had a nightmare, a night terror, you’re kind of awake but you’re not.  You called out in your sleep, I think last night’s drama may have triggered you. You’re okay now. You’re safe here, do you understand me?”

She decides not to tell him that he’d talked about a machine that used electroshock to control him. That piece of information sits like a lead weight in her chest. Maybe he’ll remember it or maybe he won’t, she isn’t about to remind him of the fact.

She sees him gently nod.

“Do you think you could try to sleep a while? I’ll stay with you if you want me to,” she suggests though she fully expects him to refuse, both sleep and the offer of company. He turns his head and looks back at the dishevelled bed before returning his attention to her. His eyes scan her face.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

She offers him a soft smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Come on, lie down, try and relax.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” she promises.

* * *

 

He lies on the mattress facing her. She sits on the floor beside his bed and she stares back at him and she has the slightest of smiles on her face.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” His voice is low in the silence.

“Sure. What do you wanna know?” she answers, voice equally soft.

Bucky observes her for a few seconds longer.

“What you went through…what happened to you…how did you get through it afterwards, to get it to make sense……to get where you are now….”

“Sane?” 

He sees the faint tilt to her mouth. “Yeah, I guess.”

Alex seems to pause and then she quietly sighs.

“I wrote it down. Kinda like a diary. Everything used to tumble and roll around inside of my head and fester and drive me a little crazy so Angie suggested I write it down and then at least it wasn’t inside of here….” She gently taps a finger against the side of her head.

“Did it help?”

“It did, strangely enough. I thought writing it down would resurrect some awful memories of that time but it didn’t, not really. It helped me find some kind of order in the insanity of it all and eventually it made me realise that there was nothing I could do about what happened, that it was out of my control and I wasn’t responsible.”

He watches her, sees how her eyes soften slightly.

“I still read them sometimes but not as often as I used to. They’re a reminder for me that my life was crazy back then but I got through it. Don’t get me wrong, it was hard at times but I survived. I got through all of it.”

* * *

 

_Gunfire cracks the air._

_“A mission well accomplished Soldat,”_

_Soldat looks down. Sees red pooling around the still pale figure._

_He then looks back at the girl standing beside him. She’s also looking down at the prone figure. She has blue eyes, long blonde hair tied back._

_He follows her lead, looks back down at the person on the ground._

_Blonde hair, closed eyes, two bullet holes. Red white and blue. Abdomen, sternum left hand side._

_Soldat frowns. ‘For all you know, I could be everything that your brother is worried that I am’_

_She looks at him. No expression on her face._

_‘Are you?’_

_The body on the ground tickles at a numbed memory._

_“I knew him,” he murmurs._

_Blue eyes open wide and fix on his face. No expression, no judgment. Waiting for something. Recognition?_

_Soldat looks back at the girl. Her white shirt is stained red at the sternum and abdomen, the stains slowly expanding beneath his gaze. She pays them no attention_

_‘I don’t want to be.’_

_Hears her sigh. Sees the slow shake of her head, disappointment now visible. She’s disappointed in him._

_‘Wipe him then start over,’ she instructs._

_Soldat stares at her with wide eyes, feels betrayal surge through him at her instructions._

_‘But you promised. You said I was safe here, that no one would find me.’_

_‘Then finish it and you will be.’_

_His mind goes blank. He lifts his weapon, a pistol and he aims._

_‘Ready to comply.’_

Eyes burst open on a gasp of air, the gunshot echoing in his mind. Weak pale light filters into the room. He stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding in his breast, gasping quietly in the silence. Tries to pull oxygen deeper into his lungs, blinks away the moisture in his eyes.

A nightmare, that’s all it was.

_It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real._

Silence reigns but he listens anyway. Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean that they’re not coming for him. He can’t afford to let his guard down, not for a second. Lifts a hand and wipes at his face and then turns his head. Sees the top of her head leaning against the mattress. Slowly, carefully he sits up, watching her, waiting for her to react, to wake up but she doesn’t. Slides off the bed and gets to his feet.

He remembers last night in fits and starts. Recalls her touching his face, stroking his hair, whispering reassurances to him, telling him he’s safe.

_‘What did the machine do to make you forget?’_

The machine. He told her about the machine? His stomach drops and he goes cold. Slowly turns his head in her direction once more, eyes wide. Did he tell her anything else? He’s tempted to wake her and demand that she tell him but he doesn’t. She’s asleep, she’s exhausted.

He’s put her in danger; she’s in peril knowing anything about him. There are eyes and ears everywhere, the wrong word said, she doesn’t know who could be listening. She could disappear, they could come here for him. They’re everywhere, ears and eyes everywhere.

He feels panic form and swell inside of him. He needs to go. He needs to get out of here, leave her behind. Leave her safe. _Go now_. He’s always planned to do so but now it’s urgent. He needs to go now. Leave it all behind.

_Compromised. Danger. Leave._

He should never have agreed to stay here in the first place, he’s put her in danger, grave danger and if he stays he’ll only succeed in destroying everything she’s managed to build up if Hydra or SHIELD come for him. They will tear her apart in their mission to find him.

He dresses quickly and efficiently; jeans, a t-shirt, a grey button down shirt, a hoodie over the top of it. All the while he keeps a wary eye on Alex, fully expecting her to wake any second and ask him what he’s doing but she doesn’t. She’s exhausted, still doesn’t move. He carefully opens the wardrobe doors and sees a jacket hanging up. He removes it from the hanger and examines it; some sort of canvas, denim material, faded and well worn. It looks big enough to fit him, to hide his left arm from view. He slides it on and finds that he’s right, it does fit and it’s comfortable across the shoulders. He sees a black ball cap on one of the shelves and picks it up, examines it. Plain, no emblems or recognisable features. He folds it up and pushes it awkwardly into the back pocket of his jeans. Selects another pair of jeans, t-shirt and a shirt similar to the one he wore yesterday but this one is red. He likes the colour. He carries them out of the room, moving silently.

He returns to the room he’s occupied for the past few days. Alex is still asleep, slumped on the floor, leaning against the mattress. He regards her, frowning mildly. It doesn’t look comfortable. He takes a step towards her and then halts, biting his lower lip. He doesn’t want to leave her there like that. He takes a silent deep breath and approaches her. He crouches down and slowly, carefully scoops her up. He straightens up, feeling her head loll against his shoulder. He pauses and watches as her eyes roll beneath their lids, wondering what he’ll say to her if she wakes up and finds herself in his arms like this. She settles again and he quietly exhales in relief as he gently lies her on the mattress, pausing again as she mutters beneath her breath and rolls onto her side, facing away from him. He carefully straightens, watching her until she’s still and he reaches for the blanket kicked to the bottom of the bed and he draws it up until it covers her shoulders. Watches her sleep for a moment longer.

He hears what sounds like the quiet squeal of brakes coming from outside. He goes to the window and looks out but sees nothing. His heart jumps when he hears the slam of a vehicle door.

_They’ve found him, they’re here to take him back. Compromised. Need to disappear._

He glances back at Alex and then leaves.

* * *

 

Alex isn’t sure what it is that wakes her up but as she opens her eyes she realises that she’s not where she was before. She’s lying on Bucky’s bed and she has no memory of getting there. She blinks and rolls onto her back and stares stupidly at the pale blue blanket that covers her to her shoulders. She doesn’t remember that either. She sits up, pushing it down and she listens. The apartment is silent, she can’t hear him.

She climbs out of bed. “Bucky?”

No response. She heads to the kitchen, passing the bathroom on the way, the door open and it’s empty. She wonders whether he’s taken it on himself to fix himself a cup of coffee or a glass of the juice he seems to like or maybe even a bowl of cereal but she pauses at the entrance and sees that the kitchen is empty too. She frowns.

“Bucky? Are you here?”

Is he hiding somewhere, in the grips of another anxiety attack perhaps? She heads to her room. There’s no one there either.

“What the…”

Pads back into the kitchen and it’s when she sees her medical instruments neatly piled on the counter top that she realises that the bag they are usually in is missing and that Bucky has gone too.

A long sigh empties her lungs and she swallows against a thickened throat. She knew this was going to happen, that his stay here was always going to be temporary but the fact that he’s disappeared without saying a word to her strangely stings.

* * *

 

Callum glances behind her when he sees her come into the bar later that morning.

“No Bucky this morning?”

Alex shakes her head. “He’s gone.”

Sees Callum’s blink of surprise. “We knew he wouldn’t be staying for long Cal, he must’ve left somewhere around dawn. I woke up and he was gone.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Somehow he doesn’t seem to be the type for farewells. He’s gone. It happens.” She gives a shrug, projecting nonchalance but in truth it still hurts a bit.

He was unlike anything or anyone she’s ever met or helped before and he intrigued her on several levels. Her mind goes back to his whispered confession, about a machine that shocked his brain to into obedience. On the one hand she wants to dismiss it as a fanciful story but on the other his whole demeanour since they met suggests that he’s telling the truth _because_ it’s so fanciful. The memory loss while she put it down to whatever benzo he was coming down off, a jolt of electricity through the brain would have the same effect as revolting as it sounds. The thought that anyone could do a thing to another human being makes her feel sick.

* * *

 

“Is it true?”

Alex looks at Mary from the opposite side of the bar.

“Is what true?”

“That Frankie was here last night and that he threatened you with a gun and Bucky put him down?” Her eyes are wide with fear, her body thrumming with tension.

Alex regards her for a minute and then she sighs, glancing at Callum before she comes around the bar to stand beside her friend.

“Yes, to all of it. Bucky put Frankie in the hospital, he needs plastic surgery to repair his eye socket but he won’t be pressing any charges, Gabe took him in, told them he found him lying in the street and Frankie won’t dare contradict that.”

“Because he was in the bar with a gun and he’d have to explain why.”

“The restraining order. Under any other circumstances I would’ve had his ass thrown in jail but Bucky…and y’know…” she shrugs. Mary nods. The less dealings with the law, the better.

“Connor says he hit him with his metal arm…he has a metal arm?” she whispers and Alex rolls her eyes.

“I’m gonna have to talk to Connor about privacy again it would seem. You know our rule, we don’t talk about the people that we help outside of this building. I know it was with you and you’re part of the family but you don’t know who will overhear your conversation and make connections.” She pauses. “But yes, he’s right and that’s all that will be said on the matter. Bucky’s privacy is important.”

“Is he okay?”

Alex’s eyes widen. “Bucky or Frankie?” she enquires.

“Bucky obviously, I don’t care what happens to Frankie, he comes at you with a weapon and he gets what’s coming to him.”

Alex smiles a little at her friend’s newly discovered gumption.

“Okay I guess. Bucky isn’t here anymore, he left this morning.”

She sees her look of surprise. “He was only ever going to stay for a few days until he got stronger. He obviously felt strong enough to move on.”

She tells herself that the more she keeps saying this then the quicker she’ll begin to believe it.

* * *

 

It takes a couple of weeks for life to get back to normal for Alex. When she’s out of the bar, she doesn’t know why but she keeps an eye open for Bucky and there have been a couple of times that she swears that she sees him but of course she never does, a glimpse of someone like him out of the corner of her eye that when she actually looks is either someone else or nobody at all. It takes her a little while to not react each time the door to the bar opens, to look for him when she returns to her apartment, to finally accept that he’s gone and that he’s gone for good.

But she can’t get the thoughts of the machine out of her mind and his claim that he was tortured by Hydra? She hasn’t shared this information with anyone, not even Gabe and it sits inside of her like a bomb waiting to go off.

* * *

 

“Alex, there are a couple of guys here asking to talk to you,” Connor tells her late one afternoon about a month after Bucky’s departure. She frowns at him and then looks over her shoulder, eyes glancing over the variety of clientele present.

“Tall blond dude, black guy at the bar. Is that….”

Alex looks over her shoulder and sees them standing at the far side of the bar, away from the other customers watching her steadily, unembarrassed at being caught staring. She quietly sighs.

“Captain America? Yeah.” The other guy she doesn’t recognise.

Her eyes flick back to Connor. “Did they say what about?”

Connor shakes her head. “You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

Alex looks at them again, her expression speculative. “Yeah, I think I kinda do. Hold the fort for a while will you?”

“Sure thing,” Connor agrees and watches her as she heads out from behind the bar and approaches them.

“Miss Wells?” the tall blond one, Captain America, begins. Alex regards him.

“It’s Doctor and yeah, that’s me.”

“You’re Gabe’s little sister?” the other guy comments and Alex turns her head and she looks at him. “I’m Sam, Sam Wilson, from the VA. I know your brother.”

Alex’s eyes lighten. “So _you’re_ Sam. Gabe’s mentioned you a few times.” She returns her attention to his companion. “You’re Captain Rogers.”

“Steve.”

“And I’m Alex. What do you want to talk to me about?”

She sees how Sam and Steve exchange a look.

“It’s kinda awkward…and personal. Is there anywhere we could go and talk privately?” Steve requests.

“Sure. This way,” Alex replies and beckons behind. She turns and heads to the kitchen, aware of them following her. 

The room is empty.

“Coffee?” she asks, indicating that they should sit at the table and she heads for the coffee pot as they do.

She pours coffee into three white mugs and carries two of them over, placing them in front of both men.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“We’re good, thanks,” Sam responds. Alex returns her attention to Steve whose eyes are taking in his surroundings. She goes to collect her mug and then sits nearby, holding it between both hands.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” she enquires. She has a feeling she may know. Steve turns his head and looks at her. She’s struck by his resemblance to Callum; similar build and bone structure. Apart from eye colour they could almost be brothers. No wonder Bucky reacted to Callum the way he did.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Sam begins.

Alex glances at him. “I’m sorry, who?” she replies.

“Also known as Bucky,” Steve adds.

“I don’t know who that is.”

She watches as Steve regards her for a long moment and it takes her everything she has to not drop her gaze. Then he quietly sighs and reaches inside of his jacket. She sees him take a light brown file, the corners slightly curled over, out and place it on the table in front of him. He opens it and extracts a photograph, small, a little bigger than a passport shot. He then pushes it across to her, watches as she picks it up. Her heart gives a jump when she recognises Bucky’s face, a different somewhat younger Bucky clad in what looks like an old fashioned uniform, a peaked cap tilted almost rakishly on his head. There’s a glint in his eye that she’s never seen before, a very slight tilt to the corner of his mouth. This man shows nothing of the man she remembers, of that shell of a human being. She hands the photograph back to Steve and she shakes her head once more.

“Sorry.”

“You’re sure?” Sam interjects sharply. Alex sends him a calm look but says nothing.

“You heard about what happened to the Triskelion building? Project Insight?” Steve begins, more of a peacemaker than his friend it would seem.

“Yeah, of course, who hasn’t and it was literally ten minutes away from here,” Alex answers with a shrug.

“Bucky was involved in that. He was last seen about ten minutes away from here. He looks kinda different from the photo I showed you, his hair is longer now and he wasn’t wearing that uniform. He was in black; black leather jacket, combats, may have been armed. You will have noticed his left arm. He may have been injured, right arm,” he continues, watching her carefully.

“What has this got to do with me?” she asks him.

“We know you help people Alex, Gabe has mentioned it before though before you start, no names have ever been mentioned,” Sam interrupts and she slowly widens her eyes.

“Before I _start_? So I offer help to those who need it and in return for a place of safety they’re offered anonymity as well as a place to heal. We don’t ask for their backstory or their history. They stay a few days or a few weeks when they don’t want official channels involved.”

“You helped Bucky?” Steve asks and once more she looks at him, hearing his hopeful tone but doesn’t answer and instead he rolls his eyes and pushes the folder across to her.

“He’s my childhood friend though right now he doesn’t really remember me. He needs help, my help,” he tells her. Alex looks down at the folder, at the Cyrillic writing on the cover, old fashioned fountain pen ink, a little faded with age. She flips it open and sees the photograph that’s pinned to the inside cover. A man with overlong dark hair in a container of some description. His eyes are closed and as she examines the black and white picture more closely, she realises that he’s frozen, there are ice crystals inside of the small window. Her eyes go wide with shock when she realises that it’s Bucky.

“Is he…”

“Frozen? Yeah, cryogenic stasis to give it its official name. Bucky was born in 1917. We grew up together, we served together. He was presumed dead in 1944 when he fell from a train during a Howling Commandoes led mission. I found out recently that he’s been a Hydra assassin, active for the past fifty years. When they didn’t need him, they kept him like that.” Steve’s voice is flat, emotionless. Alex lifts her head and she looks at him and she sees that his eyes are so sad. She flicks a look between him and Sam who regards her steadily, as if daring her to mess them around any further.

“Brainwashed,” she tells him and sees how Steve’s eyes suddenly spark with interest.

“So you _have_ seen him?”

Alex pauses for a moment, her gaze still bouncing between them fixing upon Steve as he shifts in his seat, sitting forwards, his expression becoming earnest.

“We want to help him Alex, I promise you. Everything I’ve told you is the truth; I’ve known Bucky all my life, we served together in World War Two, he was part of the Howling Commandoes. It’s all there at the Smithsonian if you need further proof,” Steve presses.

She bites her lip and then sighs.

“I usually don’t do this, a place of safety includes anonymity and we tell absolutely no one that they’ve been here unless they want someone to know but yes, Bucky was here,” she confesses. She sees how the two men look at each other. “He stayed for four days and left a month ago. I have no idea where he’s gone, literally none.”

“How did he seem?” Steve’s voice is soft, almost relieved.

“Initially? Confused and in pain. His right shoulder was dislocated, Gabe and I fixed it. He healed very quickly, almost too quickly.”

“He’s a super soldier, like…me. He has accelerated healing,” Steve tells her in a low voice.

“Did he say anything about what happened to him?” Sam enquires and she shakes her head.

“He said very little while he was here. The only things he shared with me voluntarily was his first name and that his mother drank tea from a pink and white tea cup though he couldn’t remember her name.”

She sees the faintest glimmer of a smile cross Steve’s face at this piece of information.

“She did, Bucky bought it for her. He was very close to his mother,” Steve supplies.

“There’s something else I think you should know if you don’t already. You said that he doesn’t remember you. When we found him behind the bar we noticed that Bucky was suffering from a degree of memory loss and he also began to go through a kind of withdrawal process that we thought was perhaps from a benzodiazepine dependency; stomach pains, muscle cramps, nausea and some vomiting as well as chills. We asked him what he was withdrawing from but it was obvious to us that he  wasn’t sure;  he kept looking at the back of his hand when Gabe and I asked him but he never answered us because we don’t think he knew. ”

She then pauses.

“But there’s more,” Steve prompts and she looks at him and he sees her worried expression.

She sighs shakily and slowly nods her head. She sits back in her chair and stares at her coffee cup for a moment as if organising her thoughts.

“The last night he was here, he had a nightmare, it was a bad one, he didn’t know who or where he was and in the middle of it all he told me about a machine… he said it was used to control him, keep him compliant.” She pauses, bites her lip as she remembers how scared he was as he confided in her. Sees how both men frown and exchange another more wary look.

“What kind of machine? Did he say what it did and how exactly it controlled him?” Sam asks.

Alex pauses and then takes a slow, deep breath.

“He told me it went on his head and that electroshock was used. He said it…hurt.” She swallows, feeling tears threaten.

Absolute silence drops in the room.

“My God,” Steve murmurs and Alex looks at him, to see him so pale he’s almost grey, how he clenches his jaw so tightly, she can see the muscle twitch.

“His file suggests that coercion was used, I mean it had to be given how long Hydra had him, the fact he didn’t recognise me or even his own name. I just didn’t know how, not for sure.” His voice lowers as he glances away, frowning slightly. Beside him Sam is quiet, pensive, absorbing this information with him.

Alex straightens a little in her seat. “I’m inclined to believe him, something as horrific as that you don’t make up.” She remembers the absolute fear on his face. “It would perhaps also better explain his memory loss and maybe why he didn’t remember you, you say you were best friends?”

“Since we were kids,” Steve murmurs and she can see that he’s still lost in what she’s provided him with.

“I also suspect that the people who held him…Hydra also used benzodiazepines to keep him calm, under control because I could imagine the electro shock could and would cause him to become…erratic.” Alex sees how Steve frowns at this, eyes distant, a million miles away.

“But I think he was starting to remember you though,” she continues and watches how Steve’s eyes snap back to her face, brighten just a little bit.  “Your name means something to him but I don’t think he knows how or why just yet. So take a little comfort from that. I hope that you find him, I really do.”

* * *

 

Nobody pays attention to the quiet young man as he makes his way through the exhibition.

He keeps his hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket as he walks. The place is busy as Alex said. Today seems to be no exception.

His eyes skim the faces as they get close to him, some of them look at him but it’s barely a glance, hardly registering but he still feels a frisson of something close to nerves each time, a fluttering in the pit of his stomach. Do any of them recognise him? Do they know who…what he is?  They swarm around him like insects, some of them brush against him in their quest to get by and it takes all that he possesses not to freeze in his tracks, turn tail and push his way out of there. He tries to filter out the hum of conversation that buzzes around him, above him but it’s difficult, he’s out of practice.  Instead he endeavours to keep his head down, hunches his shoulders a little and tugs his baseball cap a little further down over his eyes, careful not to make deliberate eye contact with anyone. To make himself forgettable, as small as possible. 

Nobody pays attention to the quiet young man as he slides into the exhibition on a swell of visitors, most of them glowing with curiosity, eager to learn about the history of Captain America.

He retrieves a leaflet from a plastic display that announces the exhibition and he looks down at it, at the face of the man painted on the cover. He flips it open and sees more information and he stares at it. Waits for a memory, any memory to emerge but nothing clicks. Just static where his memories should be. He huffs out a quiet sigh, folds it up and pushes it into his jacket pocket to pore over later. Maybe he’s just trying too hard and it’ll come back to him if he doesn’t try to force it to.

He’s careful to make note of any and all cameras, scoping out potential blind spots, keeping his head down, his face turned away, the brim of his cap shielding his face from the too curious.

He shouldn’t be here, _they_ might be here, waiting for him to show his face and apprehend him and take him away, back to _that_ place. He should leave, take the opportunity to disappear completely, he knows how to but he has to do this. When Alex mentioned this place to him he knew that he had to visit it for himself, to see. He has to see it all for himself, find out whether his story is true or not. Whether the man in his sketchy memories existed or is just another hallucination.

Curiosity and the need to know for sure propel him forward.

He stops in front of the memorial, towering up in front of him, a gleaming glass obelisk. An unsmiling face gazes back at him, it’s supposed to be familiar, he’s supposed to have that moment of recognition, that a-ha moment but he doesn’t. There’s nothing there, no connection, no instant recognition. If he wasn’t able to see his reflection in the glass then he wouldn’t recognise this man. It’s him but then again it isn’t. It can’t be. This man is dead, has been dead for seventy years.

A disembodied voice announces that Bucky Barnes was the only one of the Howling Commandoes to give his life for his country. This Bucky Barnes. Him. Not him. This Bucky Barnes is different, the opposite of the hollow eyed man who stares back at him.

Words are etched into the smooth surface and his eyes skim over them and he pushes his hands tighter into the pockets of his jacket to stop himself from reaching out and tracing the words with his fingers. As if the act of doing so will input the missing memories into his cracked brain.

…Grew up the eldest child of four….

…an excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom…

…Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian Front…

…captured by Hydra troops later that Fall…

…endured long periods of isolation, depravation and torture…

_‘Sergeant Barnes.'_

Flinches. Eyes dart around, bouncing over the variety of faces nearby. No one is watching. No one is paying him any attention. No one is close enough. The back of his neck prickles anyway, sending a shiver of apprehension down his spine.

…liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

A Fallen Comrade….

_I wasn’t fallen, I wasn’t dead._

_They took so much away from me. Scooped me out, stripped me of everything, left behind this shell._

He stares at the picture, at the likeness. It claims to be him, James Buchanan Barnes. His date of birth, 1917 and the date of his death, 1944.

_I’m not dead. I’m not alive. I’m not sure what I am._

* * *

 

**_New York City._ **

He sits in his tiny little room and for a moment he listens. He can hear the howl of sirens outside his newspaper covered window and he listens with half an ear as he places the notebook on the rickety table in front of him. Stares at it for a long moment, ignoring the heavy thud of his heartbeat in his chest. His hands are shaking slightly as he opens it to the first page, the lined paper unblemished, unmarked. Wedged inside is a picture of Captain America from the pamphlet he’d picked up from the exhibition. He glances at it as he reaches for the cheap black ballpoint pen that rests beside the book. He takes a deep shaky breath.

Write it down, Alex said. He frowns as he begins to tune out the static clouding his brain.

Presses the nib of the pen onto the pristine paper and begins to write.

‘ _My name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.’_

**END.**


End file.
